


These Are Words In A Script

by MittenWraith



Series: Everything is Subtext [2]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence after 10.20, Fluff, French Mistake style AU, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Pie, Sam Winchester-centric, description of canon-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge of the Subtext focused on Dean and Cas's experiences over three days in an alternate universe where they had to pretend to be happily married actors Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins at a Supernatural Convention. But what did the actors get up to while they were trapped in their characters' universe with Sam Winchester for a tour guide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks once again to the incredible [Shellie](http://meangreenlimabean.tumblr.com) for beta'ing again. :)
> 
> This story probably won't make a lot of sense if you haven't already read Revenge of the Subtext, since I basically threw canon out the window after 10.20, and just made up my own. This is the other side of the story, Sam's story, told from Sam's point of view. It begins after Chapter 4 of RotS, so if you just need a refresher on the timeline and the events leading up to the beginning of this story, that should catch you up.
> 
> (Also, Chapter 10 of RotS lays out most of my "divergent canon" important details, in case you still haven't gone ahead and just read that whole story first, for whatever reason. I don't judge. *judges a little bit*)
> 
> So here you go, 47k of Sam Winchester Love.
> 
> **This story is complete, ~~and new chapters will post on M-W-F.~~ There are 12 chapters total.

Sam wasn’t surprised that he was the first one up, even if he’d technically been the last one to get to bed. Cas had been halfway to dreamland before he’d even gone into the bathroom with Dean’s permission to go ahead and use up all the hot water. It wasn’t an offer Dean typically made when they were staying in a crappy motel, and he’d be damned if he didn’t follow through with it. Then again, this was technically the crappy motel version of a luxury suite, and Dean had hogged the private bedroom for himself. Sam figured twenty gallons of hot water was a fair trade for the lack of privacy. It’s not like sharing the main room with Cas was such a burden anyway. The guy made a pretty unobtrusive roommate, especially compared to Dean.

Dean had shut himself into the second bedroom long before Sam had emerged from the steam-filled bathroom. When Sam woke up an hour after dawn, he expected Dean’s door to be open and Dean to have already showered, dressed, and cleared his stuff out to the Impala’s trunk. Maybe even gone out to fetch coffee and donuts by then.  He’d said he wanted to take his time that morning since they agreed to let Rhiannon go on granting her weirdo wishes, but this was getting ridiculous.

Dean hadn’t slept more than six hours straight since that first week of hibernation after the Mark was gone. He’d also seemed pretty relaxed at the bar the night before, and it had been his idea to let Rhiannon go about her business and call off the hunt. All in all, Sam had been relieved that Dean was finally coming to terms with everything he’d been through. Now, with Dean still locked in his private room, Sam worried that he’d missed something, and Dean hadn’t really been dealing as well as he seemed to be. It wouldn’t have surprised Sam if his brother tried to keep that sort of thing from him, but it hurt to think he might’ve missed the signs in any case. Then again, Sam was sure he couldn’t have missed signs that big. There had to be another explanation.

Sam glanced over at Cas curled up under the blankets on the other bed, sleeping soundly, clinging like a limpet to the second pillow.  He hated to wake the guy up until he absolutely needed to, and he figured Dean would be up and rattling around, pushing everyone to get back on the road sooner than later.

They were technically on vacation now, he supposed, and knowing Dean, he’d use that as an excuse to hang around in his room until Sam finally caved and made the coffee run for him. He’d probably have a laugh about tricking Sam into bringing him breakfast in bed. Sam snorted and shook his head. It was a lot easier to believe that than it was to worry his brother might be backsliding. With that resolved, he quietly slipped out of the room to get something to eat for all three of them. Just this once, he could let Dean have the win.

He didn’t have far to go, at least. One of the perks of staying at a place a few steps up from a dump was apparently a free breakfast buffet. It wasn’t brunch at the Four Seasons, but there were fresh muffins, bagels, donuts, cereal, fruit, and most importantly, coffee. Sam sat at one of the tiny tables in the motel’s lobby long enough to scarf down a bowl of Cheerios smothered in berries before stuffing his coat pockets with oranges and filling a tray with pastries. He topped off his own coffee and poured two more before heading back up to the room twenty minutes after he’d left. Even if Cas was still out cold, Dean would surely be up by now.

Dean was not up.

Sam sighed and carefully slid the overloaded breakfast tray next to his laptop on the room’s small dining table. He sat down to peel one of his oranges, hoping the sharp scent of citrus and the bitter aroma of coffee would at least be enough to lure Cas out of bed. He hadn’t expected them to rush right out to the highway before sunrise, but with the promise he’d made to let them have some time off before looking for a new hunt, there really wasn’t much for Sam to do-- no research, no interviews, and nothing to study. Hanging around in a slightly-above-average motel room sipping slightly-below-average coffee wasn’t exactly on his vacation bucket list.

He sat there eating his orange and scrolling through the local morning news headlines on his laptop. He had to admit to himself that there was one thing he wanted to do before they left town. Now that Rhiannon had moved on to fulfill her next wish, he was curious to know what she’d gotten up to. There was nothing unusual hitting the news wires yet, but it was only a matter of time. He figured it was definitely worth a stop by the diner they’d eaten at last night. They might overhear some gossip from the locals about the newest odd occurrence, not to mention the fact he’d promised Janelle he’d come back. For pie.

Okay, there were at least two things he wanted to do before they left town. Sure, Janelle had been well informed about the strange goings-on, but Sam wouldn’t go back on a promise if he could help it. Even if eating pie and flirting with waitresses was usually more his brother’s thing, Sam didn’t mind admitting that he’d really liked her. Dean wouldn’t complain about making one last stop for pie, either, and Sam figured he might have a legitimate enough reason for spending an hour there that Dean might not even harass him about just wanting to chat with the pretty lady again. He could hope, anyway.

Sam had just stood up to toss the remnants of his orange and his empty coffee cup in the trash when Cas finally stirred.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Sam said, walking back to his chair.

Cas squeezed his pillow a little tighter, making a strange groaning sound that almost immediately turned into what Sam could only describe as a squeak. Before he could wonder if anything was wrong, Cas sat up in a disarrayed state of bleary panic. “What the fuck? Where the hell am I? What the fuck are you doing here? And where’s Jen?”

Sam watched with something approaching awed shock as his friend’s distress progressed into a full-blown meltdown. He’d heard Cas curse a couple of times before. Hanging around with him and Dean was sadly rubbing off on the ex-angel in a few less-than-savory ways, but he’d never heard him say anything quite _that_ colorful. Sam just sat there blinking at him, trying to figure out what had him so upset.

“You heard me, you little shit.” Cas said, slamming the pillow he’d just been cuddling with against the headboard, giving it a solid whack with his fist for good measure. “Or gargantuan shit. Are you _trying_ to get us fired or something?”

“Fired?” Sam finally asked, completely lost now. Maybe Cas had been having a nightmare. Sam was used to dealing with people having nightmares. Remaining calm was key. “We’re not even working right now. Just chill. I promised to let you guys sleep in today, we’ve got nowhere to be. Remember?”

Cas glared back at him like he was trying to see through Sam’s skull to evaluate him for a possible brain injury, and then just shook his head. He looked around, and the second he saw the clock on the nightstand, he grabbed up the blankets and wrapped them around himself, leaped out of bed, and stormed around the room.

“Remember? I remember that we were supposed to be downstairs half an hour ago. I remember falling asleep in _my own room_ , and I _remember_ that it definitely wasn’t _this room_. I also remember another certain someone was with me, and if he is in on this little prank with you he’s gonna be sleeping on the fucking _roof_. _For a month_. What the hell?”

Absolutely nothing that just came out of Cas’s mouth made any sense whatsoever to Sam. It was more than a little terrifying, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d scooted back in his chair the same way Buddy had last night at the bar when they’d tried to explain that he’d been touched by a goddess. Luckily for Sam, Cas’s outburst had finally woken Dean, who ran into the room looking almost as ruffled as Cas.

Sam had about two seconds to wonder if maybe Rhiannon was responsible for Cas’s current state, but that didn’t seem quite right. Everyone she’d whammied had nothing but praises for their entire experience. Cas was not pleased in the least.

After those two seconds of rational consideration, Sam wondered if maybe _he_ was somehow the one Rhiannon had cursed, but what he witnessed next left him utterly incapable of forming another coherent thought. Dean rushed to Castiel’s side and hugged him. Practically _fawned_ over him.

“Fuck, Mish, what the hell is going on?” Dean said.

Sam couldn’t swear he heard that right. “ _Mish?_ ” he squeaked out.

Now that he’d drawn their attention, Dean snapped around to glare at Sam. The look on his face flickered from worry to shock to anger to outright fury in the blink of an eye, and Sam found it even more disconcerting than Cas’s rage.

“What the hell, man, I even got breakfast!” Sam gestured at the tray of coffee and pastries as he rallied back against his brother’s accusatory glare. “Why is everyone so pissed at me this morning? I didn’t _do anything!_ ”

Dean sputtered out, still glaring at him, “Didn’t do anything? Then explain how the fuck we ended up,” Dean waved one hand around angrily, taking his first good look around the room, “Wherever the hell _this_ is. Is this supposed to be some sort of payback for Italy? Is Gen in on this with you? Dammit, I thought we agreed to stop the fucking pranks. Because this one isn’t even funny.”

“I think you’re the ones pranking me here,” Sam replied, finally starting to feel his ire. He stood up and took one step toward his brother. “It was your idea to sleep in, so don’t try to blame me for that. And what was that about Italy?”

Dean and Cas shared a confused look that seemed to encompass one of their bizarre silent conversations. Whatever they were thinking, they seemed to have come to some sort of consensus, and then Cas shrugged and took a deep breath, turning back to Sam. He spoke calmly and carefully, as if now they were _both_ convinced Sam had suffered some sort of head trauma.

“Last Saturday, in Rome,” Cas said, waving a hand between him and Dean. “You know, how we accidentally missed an autograph session? And you had to cover and make an excuse for us?”

Sam just stared back and forth between them, absolutely dumbstruck. After a second or two of watching him just stand there and gawp, Dean added, “What, did you think making us late two weeks in a row would somehow make that better?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Dean? Rome? What?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, and took one step toward him. “Oh, man, is that what this is about? You get some of the crew together, mock up a crappy motel room, and play Sam? Are they gonna use this for the gag reel or some shit? Because this ain’t funny, Jared.”

_Jared_. Oh, now everything was starting to click into place. Sam swallowed hard. At least _Mish_ finally made sense… but would Rhiannon… could she? Do this?

He looked carefully around the room, searching for the proof he needed, and that’s when he finally spotted it on the dresser next to the small television. The little bronze statue taunting him with her upraised fist. In Buddy’s photos, she’d looked like she was charging into battle, but here, now, she looked more like she was celebrating his defeat. Sam’s knees went a little wobbly, and he groped around behind himself for his chair, settling down on it with a huff.

Dean and Cas, or he supposed _Jensen and Misha_ , were still glaring at him impatiently, but he had to psych himself up for this little talk. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, wondering how to go about this. There really was no easy option, so he dove right in.

“You guys wanna have a seat? This is gonna be a long story.”

“Fuck that, Jared,” Misha said. “Just spill it.”

“My name is Sam Winchester, and I’m betting you two are actors, right?”

“Still not funny, Jared,” Jensen replied.

Sam shook his head, trying hard not to laugh. Laughing would not help matters. “I’ll bet you live in Canada, and film a show called Supernatural. But I’ve gotta say, I’m more than a little glad you’re still alive, Misha. Last time Dean and I traded places with actors, you… um…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Misha said, waving his hand in a little circle. “Pissed off angel slit my throat to make an interdimensional phone call. Season six. It’s called _acting_. Meaning it’s not real. You may have heard of it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. But I swear, I am not acting now. I really am Sam Winchester, and I’ll bet every last donut on this plate here that Dean and Cas just woke up in your universe, thanks to a goddess with a really strange sense of humor.”

“Goddess,” Jensen said, wandering up to the table and picking up the two cups of coffee before returning to hand one to Misha. “Nice try. But this has gone on long enough. There’s a room full of people who paid good money to see us, and it’s not fair to them to keep this up.” He took one sip of the tepid motel brew, and made a face. “I was gonna thank you for the coffee, but this is actually terrible.”

Sam snorted. “Well, you could blame Dean for that, if he was here. He picked the motel. I wasn’t about to go driving to a coffee shop when they had free breakfast in the lobby.”

Misha wasn’t having any of this nonsense, and wrinkled his nose up as he chugged down the contents of the cup. “Caffeine is caffeine at this point,” he said, tossing the empty cup into the trash. “So, where exactly do you have us stashed? Basement of the hotel? Glorified storage closet?”

As he’d asked, Misha crossed to the front door and swung it open, revealing the second-floor outdoor walkway of Laramie, Wyoming’s finest slightly-better-than-average motel. Well, slightly-better-than-average on the Winchester Motel Rating Scale, which still wasn’t saying much.

Jensen rushed to his side, staring out at at the parking lot with one conspicuously parked 1967 Chevy Impala, bordered by a highway and the flat expanse of practically nothing else stretching off to the distant horizon, and made a garbled choking sound. Very slowly, he turned around and looked at Sam, eyes threatening to pop right out of his head. “Where the everloving fuck are we?”

Sam watched him, calmer than he’d felt all morning, and answered. “Laramie, Wyoming. Where were you expecting to be?”

Misha turned around and shut the door, speaking very slowly and quietly, and looking like the reality of this unbelievable situation was finally setting in. “Paris,” he replied. “The one in France.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open, as he looked between Jensen and Misha, and then it really hit him. “Oh my god. Dean and Cas in Paris.” Just imagining them having to spend the next three days in France, he broke out laughing.

While Sam tried to pull himself together, Jensen and Misha stood by the door staring at each other, having a hastily whispered conversation. It didn’t last long, but by the time Sam had recovered, they’d reluctantly settled down at the table and were picking through the platter of pastries.

“So,” Misha began, swallowing a bite of a bland and sticky blueberry muffin, “Unless I am actually unconscious somewhere and this is all an extremely vivid nightmare, we’re stuck here, in a motel room somewhere in Wyoming, since we’ve been swapped out with the characters we play on tv. This is a thing that has actually happened.”

Sam sat up straight and nodded. “Don’t worry, though. This is nothing like last time. We’re not hunting anything, nobody’s chasing us, and nobody you know is in danger. Well, unless someone puts Dean and Cas in front of a camera and tries to make them act.” Sam cringed a little at the thought. Dean had been awful enough last time, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t much better, but he couldn’t even imagine Cas trying to recite dialogue and hit his marks.

Jensen and Misha shared a look of wide-eyed terror, and Jensen said, “No, no acting. We were at a Supernatural convention.”

“Convention?” Sam choked out.

Seeing the look of horror on Sam's face, Jensen finally laughed. “It’s nothing like the one from the show… or, I guess the one from your life… that we did on the show.” His eyebrows had scrunched down a bit as he struggled to wrap his head around the entirety of their situation. Misha came to his rescue and filled Sam in.

“A lot of the actors are invited to speak to the audience, there’s autograph sessions, fans can have their picture taken with us.” He shrugged. “It’s fun, but yeah. Your boys got thrown in the deep end of the pool here. You said it was a goddess. Not some vengeful goddess, I hope?”

“It’s Rhiannon,” Sam said, pointing to the figure behind Jensen and Misha. “She’s, uh, taken up a hobby. She grants wishes, but she sort of does it with a purpose.”

He went on to tell them about the case, the strange things that happened around town, and the people who’d been nothing but grateful for what she did for them.

“So you’re saying she’s like a non-evil version of Gabriel, then,” Jensen offered.

“Gabriel wasn’t evil,” Sam said defensively. “He just had a skewed sense of humor and an overbearing personality.”

“Sounds like Richard,” Misha said, smirking at Jensen.

Jensen just snorted and shook his head.

“But yeah,” Sam said, addressing his question. “She sees it as a gift, a chance to learn something about yourself. At least, the people we interviewed felt that way. So last night we decided to call off the hunt, as long as she wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“And now what?” Jensen asked. “Since you decided to let her do her thing, she thought sending them to Paris was a nice consolation prize?”

It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “Yesterday was a banner day for decisions. We also agreed that this would be our last hunt for a while. Dean wanted to take a vacation.”

“He probably wasn’t thinking Paris, though,” Misha replied, but then leaned forward to get a closer look at Sam.“Unless there’s something we don’t know about him. Like why Cas was sent to France with him, but you weren’t.”

Sam shifted a little uncomfortably at Misha’s impish smirk. He wasn’t blind. He knew there was something more to Dean and Cas’s friendship that neither of them were willing or able to address. It had been going on for _years_ , after all, and he’d mostly learned to tune it out for the sake of his own sanity. That, combined with the notion that Rhiannon seemed to be granting very specific wishes made him wonder what exactly each of their wishes had been.

It didn’t really bear thinking on too hard, and there was an easier explanation for why only the two of them seemed to have been granted a wish. After all, Sam could admit to himself that he didn’t have the first idea of what he would wish for. For the last few months, he’d just been grateful to have his brother back. Wishing for anything more than seeing Dean happily human again felt like pushing his luck. After a brief debate with himself, he decided to stick with the most obvious and least personally traumatizing reason behind Rhiannon’s motives, at least for now.

“We’ve been hunting nonstop for over a month, and with Cas human now, Dean’s been whining about taking a break. He thinks Cas should have a chance to do something fun. They’d just been sitting around the bunker watching movies and shit, but I think Dean wanted to take a proper vacation. You know, without monsters.”

Jensen looked at Sam critically, and grunted out a thoughtful little, “Huh.”

Sam just shrugged. “I have no idea why I wasn’t dragged along for the ride. Maybe Rhiannon knew you two would show up here, and would need some sort of chaperon to keep you from getting yourselves killed”

“Um,” Misha said, and narrowed his eyes at Sam. It was eerily Cas-like, but… not, somehow. “You just said you weren’t on a hunt, and that we’re not in any danger. Which is it? Are we actually in danger here?”

Sam sat up straight and held his hands out. He needed everyone to remain calm, despite their confusion and disbelief. “No, no. Nothing’s coming for us. At least, not any more than usual. But it’s probably safe to assume you’re gonna be stuck here for three days. If I hadn’t been here to explain what’s going on, what would you two have done when you woke up here?”

Jensen and Misha exchanged yet another long, considering look, and Jensen answered, “Fair point.”

“Plus, if you’d happened to run across a random monster, or angel, or demon who recognized you as Dean Winchester and Castiel,” Sam added, “Things might not… go well…” He trailed off.

Misha snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll buy that, for now. So I guess Jared, the Sam-equivalent from our universe, is probably having a similar surreal discussion with Dean and Castiel right now. I wonder how that’s going?” He turned to look at Jensen, all his sparkle and wry humor back in full force.

“Oh my god,” Jensen replied, before turning to Misha, leaning in close to bury his face against Misha’s neck and laughing hysterically. “Jared better fucking record that conversation.”

Misha wrapped one arm around Jensen’s shaking shoulders, grinning from ear to ear at Sam. Sam watched this whole scenario unfold, growing more confused and concerned by the second.

“What?” He finally asked. “You said they’re at a convention, right? What’s going on? I mean, what’s so funny about that?”

“Oh, they’re at a convention, all right.” Jensen said, as his laughter tapered off and he sat up, but still pressed to Misha’s shoulder. “And if they agree to play along and not spend the whole weekend hiding out and pretending to have food poisoning or something, they’re in for an experience.”

“A good experience?” Sam asked hopefully. The last thing Dean and Cas needed was more trauma.

“That depends,” Misha added, as Jensen broke into giggles again, “on how much they enjoy each other’s company.”

Sam shook his head, still not following. “You guys should know that. How long have you been playing them, anyway? They’re best friends.”

“Yeah,” Jensen said. “You said here in your universe we’re gonna be mistaken for Dean Winchester and Castiel, right? But in _our_ world, everyone’s gonna assume they’re _us_.”

“So?” Sam asked. “You’re not wanted by the FBI or something, are you? Don’t have hit men after you? Crazed stalker fans?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Misha said, holding out his left hand. “Except we’re a little more than best friends.”

Sam looked at Misha’s hand, as Jensen held out his. They had identical rings on their third fingers. In a rush of dread, Sam finally figured out what they found so funny.

“Oh my god, are you two _married_?”

Sam watched in horror as Jensen and Misha dissolved in a fit of laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

“So let me get this straight,” Sam said, shaking himself back from the wild tangent his mind had run off along. “Dean and Cas are spending the next three days pretending to be the actors who play them on television, in front of hundreds of fans who believe they’re a happily married couple?”

Misha sat up straight, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his t-shirt, and got his breathing under control. “Yeah, that about covers the highlights. Other than the question and answer panels, meet and greet events, hanging out with our friends, and signing autographs and stuff.”

Sam tried to process all the ways this situation could play out. He couldn’t picture it ending in anything but disaster. He stared off into the middle distance between Misha and Jensen, eventually settling his gaze on the statue of Rhiannon behind them. Under his breath-- whether addressing Rhiannon or himself or the universe in general, it made no difference-- he muttered, “There’s no way they can pull that off. They’ll be outed as impostors or hauled off to the looney bin the first time they open their mouths. Oh, god, this is awful.”

Jensen leaned across the table, and rested a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It might not be, you know? I mean, look how fast we figured out what happened here. And this isn’t the sort of stuff that happens where we’re from. Dean and Cas probably _expect_ this sort of shit to happen to them.” He raised one eyebrow, turned to Misha and gave a little shrug.

Misha nodded along thoughtfully, “The first people they’re likely to run into are Jared and Gen.” A devilish grin slowly spread across Misha’s face. “Well, after they recover from how they’re gonna wake up, anyway.”

Jensen thought about it for half a second, and then threw his head back and laughed again. Sam was mesmerized by the sight. This man looked exactly like Dean, but in so many ways he was nothing like his brother. It still caught him off guard, until his brain processed it all through and he reminded himself that this was definitely not Dean. Imagining Dean laughing that freely, expressing that much joy, loosened something in Sam’s chest that he hadn’t even realized had been clenched tight before. He wanted Dean to know that kind of intense joy. Hell, they all deserved it after everything they’d been through. Sam found himself grinning along with Jensen and Misha without even caring about why they were laughing in the first place.

The weird notion that Jensen was somehow channeling his brother passed, and Sam found himself needing every answer these two men could give him, for his own peace of mind. He really was worried for Dean and Cas, and the more he understood what they would face during their vacation to the twilight zone, the better he’d be able to cope over the next few days.

“What do you mean,” Sam finally asked when their laughter died away. “How are they gonna wake up?”

Jensen grinned at him, then finally took a good, hard look at Misha’s impromptu blanket toga. He picked at the sleeve of the ratty old t-shirt Cas had worn to bed the night before, now covering Misha’s one exposed shoulder. “I assume this is what Cas was wearing last night?”

Sam noded, wondering where this was going, but Misha looked down at himself, and let out a quiet _oh._

Jensen tried and failed to ignore Misha while he slowly unwound the blanket from himself, eventually revealing Cas’s favorite green plaid pajama pants, and pointed to his own outfit of boxers and a t-shirt. “And this is what Dean was wearing?”

Sam shrugged. “I have no idea, but they look like his clothes. Last time I saw him, he was still in jeans and flannel.”

Misha took over for Jensen, who was having a hard time containing another laugh, one hand raised to cover half his face. “I also assume we woke up in the same places they went to bed. So we can assume they’ll wake up where we went to bed, too.”

Sam blanched. They were too nice to say it outright, but he’d figured it out anyway. Now he really wished he hadn’t. Sam’s imagination was not his friend. He bent forward and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to rub the image his brain had created from his mind. The other two men said nothing, giving him a minute or two to get a grip on himself.

Still hunched over, elbows on his knees, studying the gross beige carpet between his feet, Sam addressed what looked like a red wine stain on the floor.

“So what I’m getting from this,” he waved a hand at Jensen and Misha without looking up at them, “Is that they’re gonna know something’s up the second they wake up... naked... in bed... together?”

“Hmmm,” Misha said lightly, as Sam tentatively peered up at them. “If Cas is anything like me, Dean’s gonna know at least one thing’s up almost immediately.”

Jensen snorted and pushed Misha’s shoulder. “Dude, Sam doesn’t need that imagery. He’s not Jared. We should try to act nice, you know?”

Misha snorted and rolled his eyes, but he smiled softly at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. You just look so much like Jared, and we still owe him about two years worth of uncomfortable dick jokes. Payback is a bitch.”

“No, man, I get it. It’s fine,” Sam said, shaking his head and coming to grips with Dean and Cas’s situation. “It’s just, they know the case we’ve been working, they know Rhiannon, and it’ll probably take them five whole seconds to figure out what happened.”

Jensen nodded. “Yeah, and we were sharing a huge fucking suite with Jared and Gen, so they’ll actually have some privacy to work everything out. Dean’s smart. Jared’s smart, too. And if worse comes to worst, Gen’s probably smarter than both of them put together. She’ll help them figure it out.”

“Gen?” Sam asked, unable to keep a tiny shock of fondness out of his voice. His two days in that other universe pretending to be her husband had been surreal, but he couldn’t deny it had been nice, in an unsettling sort of way. “You mean, Ruby?”

Misha nodded, grinning. “Shame she was a demon in your universe, since you two seem to end up happy together in every other universe.”

“Thanks for that,” Sam replied, groaning.

“Hey, cheer up!” Misha said, standing up to pat Sam on the shoulder. “At least you know your brother and the angel are in good hands.”

Jensen stood up too, and sidled up next to Misha, draping one arm around his shoulders as he drew the other man’s attention from Sam. “So, it looks like we’re on vacation for the next three days, too, huh? What do you wanna do? Monster Tour of the U.S.A., Winchester-style?”

“Fuck no!” Misha replied, aghast. “Do not want. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing the bunker, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“Holy shit!” Jensen added, bending down to look directly into Sam’s face, and dragging Misha along with him. “Does this mean I can drive Baby? The _real_ baby?”

“You’ve got your Baby back on set, Jen,” Misha said, pulling the other man upright by the back of his shirt collar. “It’s not like you don’t get to drive her all the time anyway.”

“It’s not the same,” Jensen said, as if it should be obvious. “This is like a fucking religious experience for me, man. Do not laugh, Misha, or you can ride in the fucking trunk, you hear me?”

Misha bit his lower lip and grinned at his husband. He suddenly leaned in and kissed Jensen’s cheek before whispering in his ear, “I know, babe, I just think it’s cute you’re so excited about it.

Sam finally cut them off, unsure what he should do. Unsure what _Dean_ would think he should do. He rarely let Sam drive the Impala, and here was some stranger wearing Dean’s face, who played Dean on a tv show in another universe, but who was _definitely not Dean,_ who wanted to take her for a spin. It was a dilemma.

“Uh, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, guys.”

“What, Sammy,” Jensen said, looking and sounding eerily like his brother. “You think Dean wouldn’t let himself drive his own car?”

“He’ll kill me,” Sam replied.

Jensen continued to stare at him just like Dean, while Misha took half a step back and watched the unfolding drama as coolly and calmly as Cas would’ve. It only took about thirty seconds for Sam to crack.

“Fine, fine,” he replied, slumping back into his chair in defeat, pointing one accusatory finger between Jensen and Misha. “Just promise me you won’t pull that shit on me again, and you can drive the damn car.”

Jensen grinned, pleased, but Misha stepped up beside him shaking his head sadly. “I’d love to promise that, but Jen here has a little trouble with character bleed sometimes.”

Jensen turned to Misha, a teasing glint in his eye but the rest of his face the spitting image of Grumpy Dean. “ _I_ have trouble with character bleed? Mister ‘I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition?’”

Misha turned a faint shade of pink, but didn’t look away from Jensen’s face. “I can’t take responsibility for the things I say at the height of passion.”

Jensen shook his head wonderingly. “You fucker.”

“Yes.” Misha grinned.

Sam slapped his hands down hard on his knees and stood up. There was only so much of their surreal flirting that he could take. “Well, now that that’s settled, and at least you’re gonna _try_ to behave yourselves, I suppose we should get ready and head out. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up around town, and then we can head back to Kansas. It’s only about a six hour drive, so we should be back in time for dinner, if that’s okay with you guys?”

Jensen and Misha agreed.

“Good,” Sam said. “I’m all packed and ready to head out. If you guys wanna grab a shower or finish breakfast, or whatever, that’s fine. I can gas up the car and meet you back here in a few minutes.”

“Can you give us half an hour?” Misha asked, taking Jensen’s hand and tugging him toward the bathroom. Without waiting for a reply, he added a hastily shouted, “Thanks!” through the bathroom door as it closed behind the both of them.

Sam stood there in shock, listening to the muffled noise of their excited conversation as their voices were drowned out by the spray of the shower. He quickly decided that he did not need to stick around to hear any of the other noises he might be subjected to if he didn’t get out of that room immediately. He grabbed up his laptop, his packed duffel, and the statue of Rhiannon, and headed out to find the nearest gas station.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam drove around town for a few minutes, and then cruised past Janelle’s diner to see if there was a crowd. Even now that the breakfast rush was beginning to taper off, there were still a handful of people taking their time over a leisurely Saturday morning out. Now that he knew what Rhiannon’s latest project was and didn’t need to eavesdrop on the local gossip for clues, he kind of hoped the stragglers would clear out by the time he’d be back with Misha and Jensen.

A few blocks farther down the road, he found a gas station and filled the Impala’s tank. They’d have to stop again before they reached the bunker, but Sam figured they’d make it at least two thirds of the way home on a full tank.

He spent a few minutes chatting with the clerk behind the counter when he went in the little shop to pay and pick up the local newspaper. The guy teased him about buying an actual newspaper and joked about the wifi being unreliable around town lately.

Sam smiled, and shook his head. “Nah, I haven’t had any trouble with wifi, but I’ve got about an hour to kill before I head out of town. Maybe I’ll do the crossword puzzle or something.”

“You know they have an app for that,” the attendant replied.

He paid, collected his newspaper, and headed out to find a comfortable spot to read. A minute later, he drove past the park that had started this whole adventure, and decided it was as good a place as any to waste a half an hour.

Sitting on a bench in the warm morning sun, he scanned through the entire paper looking for anything noteworthy. There was a short article about One Wish, asking for confirmation from anyone who’d been to the bar that it had actually existed. It mentioned the growing list of weird incidents he’d already investigated with Dean and Cas, but the people of Laramie seemed to have lost interest in the string of inexplicable things happening in their town. The story wasn’t even front page news anymore. It was buried on page seven between an article about a concert at the university and an ad for a used car dealership.

Another ten minutes gone, Sam looked at his watch and sighed. There was no way he was going back to the motel until he was sure Jensen and Misha would be fully dressed and ready to go. Between their resemblance to Dean and Cas, and their uncanny ability to _become_ his brother and his friend at the drop of a hat, it was going to take some getting used to being around them. He needed a little more time to adjust before he had to face them again.

With nothing else to do, he carefully folded the paper and wondered if he should give Jody a call. He hadn’t talked to her in over a week, since before they’d headed up to Minnesota for a salt and burn, then got detoured by a hunt for a ghoul in Iowa. Not to mention the fact that she was on the very short list of people who would find his current situation humorous. He could use a good laugh right about then.

Since Cas wasn’t going to be around for a few days, he figured he should also let Claire know why she wasn’t getting her regular daily text updates from him. At least once a day, Cas would send her a smiley face, or some obscure observation he’d made about humanity, or a joke, or even just, “Hello, Claire, I hope you’re having a lovely day.” Both times they’d seen her in person since she’d moved to Jody’s, Clare had teased Cas about it, but it was obvious to Sam that it meant a lot to her that Cas was thinking about her, and cared about her. He didn’t want her to worry, so he called Jody.

She picked up on the second ring, with a cheerful, “Hey, Sam. What new nightmarish creature are you gonna introduce me to this week?”

Sam laughed quietly. Jody always answered his calls that way nowadays, even though nothing really surprised her anymore. “It’s another goddess this time. But she’s not eating people, at least.”

“Well, that’s an improvement on the usual, I guess. So what’s her gig, then? Eternal servitude?”

“Nah. She’s granting wishes. They’re mostly harmless, and the spell only lasts three days before everything goes back to normal. It’s weird, but nobody’s getting hurt, so we’re letting this one go for now.”

“Huh,” Jody said. “So it was open and shut. Kinda lacks your usual excitement level.”

“Yeah, not entirely,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes as he tilted his face up to the sun. “That’s part of the reason I’m calling. She, uh, apparently granted Cas and Dean’s wishes, so they’re gonna be out of touch for a few days.”

“Out of touch,” Jody said skeptically. “You mean she’s got them trapped somewhere?”

“Sort of.” Sam said it almost like a question, his voice pitching higher as he realized how bizarre and unbelievable his next sentence was going to sound. He cleared his throat and plowed on despite it. “She seems to have sent them off to an alternate reality. Remember that time I told you about a few years back, when Dean and I got sent to a universe where we were actors?”

Jody snorted. “Yeah. You think they went back there? Are they living out some sort of screwed up Hollywood fantasy or something? Did they actually _wish_ for that? I mean, Dean seemed kinda pissed the whole time you were telling me that one. I can’t imagine he’d want to go back for a visit.”

“Yeah, apparently this is a different universe, but close enough. And they’re not in Hollywood, they’re in Paris.”

“Paris?” Jody asked skeptically. “How the hell do you know that?”

By the time Sam finished explaining the entire mess to Jody, it had been forty-five minutes since he’d left the motel. It was probably time to start heading back, but Jody insisted they swing by for a visit on their way to the bunker. She said she wouldn’t believe it unless she could meet Jensen and Misha in person. Sam tentatively agreed, pending confirmation that it was okay with the actors in question, and told Jody to expect them that evening. It was going to be a long day.

Sam pulled up outside the motel to find Jensen and Misha sitting on a bench outside the front office.  He was more than a little thankful they’d seemed to have gotten all their physical affection out of their systems for the time being, and were just sitting next to each other, avidly studying something on their phones. He parked and got out with the intention of helping them load their gear into the trunk, since it was technically Dean’s gear and Cas’s gear, and not really theirs at all.

“How have they not figured this shit out yet? I mean, do you see the kinds of things they send each other?” Jensen muttered as Sam approached.

Misha cleared his throat and elbowed Jensen in the side, before loudly saying, “Look at this one! It’s Claire’s Grumpy Cat!”

Sam watched as Jensen hastily shoved Dean’s phone into his pocket, and leaned in to smile and nod at Cas’s photo gallery. He decided it wasn’t his business to dwell on whatever Jensen had seen on his brother’s phone, and was actually feeling kind of grateful to Misha for changing the subject.

“You guys ready to go?” Sam asked, picking up both of their bags, and heading around to the trunk.

“Can I drive first?” Misha asked, stuffing the phone into the pocket of Cas’s leather jacket.

“No fucking way,” Jensen replied, pulling Misha close for a brief hug before pushing him off toward the passenger side of the car and addressing Sam. “I trust Misha with my life, but never with my car. He’s a menace.”

Sam slammed the trunk shut, taking a quick glance at Misha’s frowning face, and walked over to Jensen, who was standing by the driver’s side door. “Good to know,” he said. “But I’m driving the first leg anyway. There’s one stop I promised I’d make.”

Jensen looked defeated, but then hopeful. “But after that, I can drive?”

“Fine,” Sam replied, reaching past Jensen for the door handle. “You can drive next.”

While they’d been talking, Misha had already climbed in the back seat, and left the front passenger door open for Jensen. He walked around and leaned in, grinning back at Misha.

“I thought you called shotgun?”

“Only if you’re driving,” Misha replied. “This is my usual spot, anyway.”

“‘Preciate it, babe,” Jensen said, climbing into the front and shutting the door as Sam did the same.

He barely even waited until Sam had her started before he was running his hands over every surface he could reach. By the time Sam was backing out, he’d decided to paw through the glove compartment.

“Holy shit,” he blurted, pulling his hand back from the assortment of registration papers, old cell phones, and various weapons inside.

“What?” Sam asked, slamming on the brakes and looking to see what upset the man. “What is it?”

Jensen looked apologetic, and explained. “It’s just, unless we’re doing a scene where the glove box gets opened, it’s always empty. Something about props getting lost and leaving weapons around on set where anybody could get their hands on them. It’s a big no-no. You know, safety violations.”

Sam snorted, and resumed backing out of the parking space. “Yeah, my whole life’s been a safety violation. Fair warning, though. There are weapons hidden, like, everywhere. So be careful, yeah? I don’t need you rummaging around and accidentally shooting yourselves in the ass.”

Misha scooted across the back seat and idly ran his fingers over the army man crammed in the ashtray, deliberately catching Jensen’s eye and sending him a knowing look. Jensen glanced back and smiled as Misha slid back to the center of the bench so he could watch out the front window. “Noted.”

As Sam drove, he sighed, realizing there was another important safety consideration that needed to be addressed as long as these two were going to be wearing Dean and Cas’s faces in his universe.

“You guys do have some weapons training, right?”

Misha shrugged in the back seat, but Jensen answered right away. “Pretty much anything Dean’s used on the show, I’m at least passable handling. Knives, guns, machete; you name it.”

“Misha, does that mean you’re comfortable using an angel blade?” Sam asked, peering up into the rear view mirror to see Misha’s reaction.

“I won’t accidentally chop my arm off, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied.

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “I just think you both should be armed. I don’t think Dean’s been completely unarmed in years. It would be just our luck the one time Dean and Cas stumble across a demon with a grudge, it would actually be you two, completely unarmed and unprepared to defend yourselves.”

“That’s an unsettling line of thinking, Sam,” Misha replied.

Sam just shrugged. “Welcome to our lives.”

“Misha gets a gun, though,” Jensen said. “He’s shit at actual hand to hand.”

“I could probably outrun the demon, though.”

Jensen smiled back at him. “Yeah, but I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

Sam nodded, pulling into the diner’s small parking lot. “Okay then, it’s settled. Come on.”

He led them back to the trunk, sliding their bags aside to lift the lid to the weapons storage compartment.

“Terrifying,” Misha said, reaching in to grab an angel blade, and testing its weight as he spun it around in his hand before holding it up in front of Jensen’s face. “Look, the real ones are fucking sharp! How does Cas not shred himself up using this thing?”

“He’s Cas, dumbass,” Jensen replied with a snort.

“Point,” Misha said, dropping the blade in favor of the gun Sam handed him. He checked the safety and the magazine before tucking the weapon into the back of his waistband. “They did make me go through the gun safety course on set, so I promise not to accidentally shoot myself in the ass.”

“Can’t guarantee he’d actually hit a bad guy he was aiming at, but yeah,” Jensen said, accepting Dean’s Colt 1911 from Sam with a smile. “He won’t accidentally hit a good guy, either.”

Sam watched Jensen handle Dean’s favorite gun with the same care and precision his brother did. After tucking the gun into his belt, Jensen also reached in and grabbed a hunting knife, ironically the one Dean usually preferred to carry when he wasn’t using Ruby’s knife. He pulled it out of the sheath, inspected the blade, and then slid it into his jacket pocket, exactly the way Dean would.

Misha noticed the weird look Sam was giving Jensen, and stepped up beside him to say, “He can actually be just as scary as Dean can. I wouldn’t worry about either of us.” He patted Sam on the shoulder, and then stepped over to stand next to Jensen.

Sam stood there staring at them for a minute, until Jensen asked. “So, what are we doing here, then?”

Of course Jensen and Misha had no idea where they were. Sam shook off the last of the strange feeling that Jensen was both so alike and so different from Dean all at the same time, and explained.

“We ate here last night, but I promised to come back this morning for pie,” he said, without even thinking about it.

“I thought your brother was the great admirer of pie,” Misha replied, one side of his mouth quirked up as if he were holding back a laugh.

Jensen just shook his head and turned to address Misha with his most serious face. “It’s got to be a girl.” He glanced up at Sam, and asked, “Who is she?”

Sam took a step backward, and then stopped himself from retreating further. “She’s… I really did promise to come back for pie! That’s it! I swear!”

Misha and Jensen exchanged another glance, before Misha smiled at Sam. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re not Jared, who we would torture mercilessly about this because that boy is a bottomless pit for food.” He then pointed at Jensen. “And this is not your brother, who would probably torture _you_ mercilessly about this for entirely different reasons. All in all, being stuck with us is probably your best case scenario. If, indeed, you want to admit that this is about a girl.”

“You want us to take a hike?” Jensen asked. “Say the word. Or we’ll sit there quietly and eat pie with you. Your choice.”

Sam studied their absolutely sincere faces, and really thought about that for a minute. It’s not like he had any realistic chance of ever seeing Janelle again, so it wasn’t entirely about the girl, per se. He really did want to keep his promise about the pie, and he was genuinely curious to know if she’d heard back from Buddy, now that his life as a bar owner had been temporarily cut short. With all that in mind, he also thought it was best to keep an eye on Jensen and Misha. They’d barely had an hour to adapt to what had happened to them, and it didn’t seem fair to send them off on their own yet.

Sam finally sighed, and said, “Yeah, come on. Let’s eat some pie.”

“You have made a wise choice, my moosey friend,” Misha said, leaning in and squinting at Sam like Cas would’ve back before he’d settled in to being more human.

Jensen grabbed him by the back of the neck, and gently pulled him to his side. “Don’t be such a weirdo, Mish. Be Cas, or be you. You can’t be both at the same time.”

“Says you.”

“Um,” Sam interrupted. “That might actually be a good acting choice, you know? Cas has been human for a few months now. He’s a lot more… normal, I guess. At least he gets most of Dean’s nerdy references now.”

“Good to know,” Misha said, looking genuinely pleased, if not a little bit surprised by that revelation.

“Anything else we should know going in?” Jensen asked. “Since we supposedly met this girl last night?”

“Well, you should get the pecan pie,” Sam suggested. “Dean was his usual disgusting self about it, and there’s no way Janelle would’ve forgotten that.”

Sam went on to describe the events of the previous evening, while Jensen and Misha listened attentively, exchanged a few pointed glances when Sam mentioned some choice comments his brother and Cas had made about the pie practically melting in your mouth. Well, except for the nuts.

“So, can you guys handle all that?” Sam asked hopefully. “I guess just do whatever you do when you’re acting, and stay in character.”

“Trust us, Sammy boy,” Jensen said, clapping a hand to Sam’s shoulder. “We’re professionals.”

He gave Sam a quick wink and turned to walk around to the diner’s front door.

“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Sam asked, giving Misha one last chance to bail.

Misha sighed, and watched his husband walk away, before turning back to Sam and rolling his eyes. “I’ve been playing Cas for seven years. I can pull it off for half an hour. It should be easier than usual since Jared’s not here to play footsie with my balls. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Sam could feel the confusion spread over his face, and Misha just shook his head and laughed. “Never mind. It’s just Jared’s idea of a joke. I promise, we’ll be fine.”

“Okay then.” Sam took a deep breath and followed after Jensen.


	4. Chapter 4

The diner was even more crowded than it had been when Sam drove past an hour earlier. It turned out they had a rather popular brunch special, and Janelle was too busy both serving and busing her own tables to seat them. She’d smiled happily at Sam when she’d seen them walk in, but they hadn’t really been able to talk much beyond her bringing them coffee and taking their order. Sam was so distracted by Jensen and Misha he couldn’t even complain about it.

It was incredible, knowing that they weren’t actually Dean and Cas, yet watching them _be_ Dean and Cas so completely. Sam caught himself just staring at them as they drank their coffee and bantered on about various movies. It was so eerily engrossing, Sam found himself interrupting their conversation when Dean… _no, Jensen_ , mentioned Tomb Raider.

“Oh my god, Dean, you already showed him those movies like three weeks ago.”

Jensen and Misha stared at each other for a second, then turned as one to stare at Sam, who sat there gaping at them again when he realized what he’d done.

“Confused goldfish is not a good look for you, Sam,” Jensen said.

Misha snorted, but then snapped right back into character as Janelle came back and set three slices of pie on the table and quickly topped off their coffee.

“Sorry I can’t sit and chat today, guys, but Buddy won’t be back to work until tomorrow, and until then I’m gonna be swamped.”

Sam took what was likely to be his last opportunity to talk with her, and asked, “So he’s come crawling back for his old job? The bar not work out for him?”

“Apparently not this time, but he’ll get back there,” she replied, smiling and shaking her head a little fondly. “I thought he’d be angry about having to come back to work for me, but the guy’s got a plan, and he wants to work for it. I have to admire him for it.”

Sam nodded. “That’s great. But I’m sorry you’re too busy to take a break. We’re headed out on the road right after this. I wanted to say thanks again.”

Janelle smiled brightly, and reached out to touch Sam’s arm. “Thank you. I’m just glad you didn’t skip town before you got to try a slice of that pie. You boys enjoy yourselves, now.”

She slid the check face down on the table and hurried off to take care of the rest of her customers.

Sam dutifully ate his pie, which was as delicious as advertised. Most of his attention was focused on Jensen and Misha, though. Watching them, Sam practically felt like he was having an out of body experience. For all intents and purposes, they were Dean and Castiel in every way.

Jensen took the largest bites possible and then expressed rapturous delight as he chewed, while Misha dissected his slice like he was surgically removing each bit for further study as he ate. It was a nearly exact copy of the scene the real Dean and Cas had presented the previous evening.

Every comment they made, from discussing the pie to debating about where to stop for dinner later, could’ve come straight from Dean and Cas. Even the way they sat, uncomfortably close together but still managing to maintain that carefully defended three inch gap between them, made Sam wonder just how much these actors knew and understood their lives. In the weirdest possible way, it was actually remarkably soothing.

Here they were, two men from another universe completely devoid of magic and monsters, who knew Dean and Cas-- and by extension, Sam himself-- well enough to literally _become_ them. When Sam had introduced himself, or at least when they’d finally begun to believe him, they hadn’t run screaming from the room. They hadn’t accused him of being a traitor, or a backstabber, or a freak. They hadn’t been frightened of him. They knew his entire life history, every awful thing he’d ever done, _and they were okay with it_.

Then again, he still wasn’t sure if they believed all this was entirely real yet. But they had trusted him with their lives, even after the whole safety lesson and weapons check out in the parking lot. One peek at the armory inside the Impala’s trunk would’ve be enough to scare off most people, but they hadn’t even blinked.

It was kind of nice, in a mind-bending pretzel-logic kind of way. But still nice.

Sam barely even registered Jensen picking up the check, looking it over, and then slapping a couple of bills down on the table, he’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts. He was startled enough to bang his knees against the table when Jensen caught his attention again by snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face.

“Hey, Sammy,” Jensen said. “What’s next on the agenda?”

It was doubly disconcerting, since it wasn’t exactly common for Dean to entrust him with their itinerary, but for the next three days Sam was effectively in charge. He was perfectly fine with that.

“You guys finished?” Sam asked, glancing down at their empty plates and mugs. “I guess so. Huh. Let’s get going, then.”

He stood up and tried to shake the last of his confused thoughts away for now. He figured he’d have plenty of time to work through the strange feeling that kept nudging at him.

Back in the parking lot, Sam started to hand the keys over to Jensen, but at the last second snatched them back. He looked straight into Jensen’s eyes with the glare he reserved for convincing angels and demons alike that he was Not Joking, and issued one last warning.

“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you. I’ll consider it preemptive repayment for Dean killing _me_ when he gets back.”

Jensen just grinned, reached out, and snagged the keys from Sam’s hand. “I haven’t put a scratch on her in ten years. Well, the crew has, but none of that was my doing.”

Misha walked past them at that moment, headed toward the front passenger seat, and laid a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Sam. He loves this car as much as Dean does. He hasn’t owned a car of his own in years, because he feels like it would be cheating on her. The production company promised he can have her when the show ends, but he already thinks of her as his car. He’ll take good care of her.”

Sam nodded at him and blew out a relieved breath. “Thanks, man. That helps.”

“Also, he cried when he realized the effects department had actually keyed Abaddon’s warning message into the paint. He thought they were going to draw it on. It was a bad day for everyone.”

Misha gave him one grave nod, and then practically leaped into the front seat, laughing all the way. Jensen was already behind the wheel, just waiting for Sam to climb in the back. As he shut the door, he watched Misha fiddling with the radio as Jensen tried to slap his hands away.

“Driver picks the music, Mish. Them’s the rules.”

“You just wish I had my iPod with me.”

Jensen shook his head, and started the car. “Not in this car, babe. Not in this car.” He had to turn down the volume, after Misha’s fiddling left it turned up way too loud for comfort.

“Even Dean has an iPod now, Jen. It’s time for you to get over it.”

Sam snorted, and they both turned to look at him curiously. “Dean’s got his little iPod, but he only uses it when he’s trying to fall asleep. The bunker’s not exactly soundproof, and he couldn’t figure out how to rig up his whole stereo system close enough to his bed to use his headphones. Charlie and I chipped in and got him the iPod to save ourselves from late night Motorhead.”

Jensen glanced over at Misha and then grinned back at Sam. “But you know that’s not all he’s got on that thing, right?”

“Shut up, Jen,” Misha said. “It’s not your place to spill all Dean’s secrets to his brother.”

“If you mean the Taylor Swift, I already know about that,” Sam said, leaning back as Jensen shifted the car into reverse and began backing out.

“Huh,” was all Jensen said, before he got to the most pressing question. “So where are we headed? I didn’t have a chance to print out a google map for the batcave.”

“Uh, about that,” Sam said, inching forward on the seat again as Jensen waited to turn out of the parking lot and into traffic. “I talked to Jody this morning and filled her in on what’s happening with you two, and she wants us to swing by her place tonight, if that’s okay with you.”

“Jody Mills?” Jensen asked, turning around to face Sam. “In South Dakota? Isn’t that a pretty big detour?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s about three hours farther than the bunker, but I figure you guys have three days to kill. I thought you might be interested in meeting her. And meeting Alex and Claire. But only if you want to.”

“Kim would probably jump out of her boots at the chance to meet Jody,” Misha said, frowning nearly to the point of pouting at Jensen. “I’d feel terrible if we passed it up. I’d never be able to face Kim again.”

Jensen laughed, and agreed. “Yeah. That’s cool with us. Point the way.”

It didn’t take long for Sam to relax and just let Jensen drive. It was actually a step up from Dean’s usual driving, if for no other reason than Jensen’s singing voice was actually pretty damn good. It was so incongruous when Jensen started singing along to one of Dean’s tapes, that Sam was compelled to mention it.

“You know Dean can’t sing, right?” Sam said the first time Jensen hummed along to a song in perfect tune.

Misha answered, “Yeah, we know he usually doesn’t try very hard.”

“That’s being generous, Mish,” Jensen replied.

“But he _can_ sing if he wants to.” Misha turned in his seat and looked back at Sam. “He just doesn’t.”

Jensen just shrugged and nodded, and kept right on driving.

“Huh,” was all Sam said.

He had hours to do nothing but sit in the back seat and think. These guys probably knew more about him and his life than anyone else. They certainly knew things about Dean and Cas. Or at least they _seemed_ to know things.

They lived huge chunks of their lives in character, but that didn’t necessarily translate to some sort of special understanding. They likely spent a lot of time thinking about their characters _as characters_ , and whatever theories they’d developed about the people they were playing on tv could be nothing more than that. _Theories_.

Still, it would probably be worth listening to their insights and ideas in any case. Hell, they had the better part of a nine hour drive ahead of them, and it would certainly make for some interesting conversation. Definitely more interesting for Sam than trying to wrap his head around watching Jensen and Misha sitting in the front seat holding hands and being cute with each other all the way to Sioux Falls, at any rate.

“So, how did you guys meet, anyway?” Sam ventured after a half an hour of relative quiet.

“I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition,” Misha answered in Castiel’s raspiest voice.

“No, I mean really,” Sam clarified.

“Really,” Jensen answered. “We met on set. We were introduced two seconds before filming that scene in the barn.”

“Scene in the barn?” Sam asked quietly, thinking back all those years. He hadn’t been there, but Dean and Bobby had told him all about it. Windstorm, rattling roof, exploding lights, and Cas casually walking through a hail of gunfire and every protective symbol they could think of. It had freaked the both of them out enough, and they were seasoned hunters. Sam couldn’t imagine meeting the love of your life under those circumstances. Then again…

“That’s right, you’ve never seen it,” Jensen said. “But you know what happened.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, Dean and Bobby told me everything. Crazy way to meet, huh?”

Misha laughed. “He thought I was some sort of lunatic. I’d been running through my lines one last time, and he barely had time to shake my hand and welcome me to the set before we started filming. So I’m standing there staring at him like Cas would, because I was already...” Misha paused to get his laughter under control, but even Jensen was chuckling now. “I was in character, and still mentally running through my lines, _just staring at him_ and all I managed to get out was _hello._ And the look on your face!”

Jensen shook his head. “Yeah, just a little bit freaked out that I was gonna have to work with some sort of robot with zero personality. That whole day of shooting was kinda weird already, you know?”

Misha nodded. “Then I walked through a gauntlet of exploding lights and showers of sparks and had to keep a straight face, all the while fucking _terrified_ that the trench coat wasn’t fireproof.”

“Heh.” Jensen glanced back and grinned at Sam, and then went on. “Mish wasn’t on set for about a week after that, and the second time we met was almost as unnerving as the first. We only did one scene, and the whole time I was wondering if he was acting at all, or if that’s just how he always was, because we hadn’t really had a chance to talk yet outside of what was in the script.”

“I thought you were just naturally skittish or shy or something, because you were pretty jumpy between takes,” Misha said.

“Yeah, until I saw you actually talking to Jared like a person.”

They smiled at each other and went quiet for a few moments.

“How long before,” Sam said, pointing back and forth between them, “you know… this happened?”

“I was only signed on to do three episodes originally,” Misha answered. “I got word just before I showed up to tape the third that they wanted to keep me around a bit longer.”

Misha paused when Jensen snorted and muttered, “Yeah, just a bit longer.”

“They told me I had six episodes instead of three.” Misha grinned at Jensen, then turned to face Sam. “It’s been more than seven years now.”

“And then Jared wasn’t on set much for your third episode,” Jensen said. “And we started hanging out more.”

“It was nice not having the giant puppy around all the time, and actually being able to get to know you,” Misha said.

“That’s about when the betting pool started,” Jensen said. “Jared dropped by one day and saw us having lunch, and by the time he went home he had about forty people invested in whether or not we’d start dating.”

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “And you guys had no idea?”

“Nope,” Misha said. “I’d gone back to Los Angeles for about a month until I was needed for the next episode I was going to be in, but Jensen stayed in touch.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jensen replied. “We talked almost every day, and the night you got back to Vancouver, I invited you out to dinner.”

“And Jared won the betting pool,” Misha added, his smile dropping a little as he turned to peer at Sam again. “Then there were the dark days of season seven, when we thought Cas was gonna be killed off the show permanently. You know,” Misha said, squinting critically at Sam, “The Leviathans, and all that.”

Sam took a deep breath and nodded. He and Dean had thought they’d never see Cas again, either. And it nearly destroyed his brother.

“Jensen was worried I might decide to move back to L.A. to look for work, and in some sort of mad fit he proposed.” Misha turned and looked fondly over at Jensen, who squirmed and turned a little bit pink. “But then a few weeks later, I was told to hang on and not take any other jobs, because they still had plans for me on the show. And they haven’t tried to get rid of me again, so I should probably be thanking you for, you know, keeping Cas alive for the last year and a half while Dean lost his marbles and took an extended vacation to the Dark Side.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t keep Cas alive.”

Misha turned and gave Sam his full attention. “Yes, Sam. You did. You were his friend. You kept him from losing hope when he thought Dean was dead. Cas knew he was dying, too, and he would’ve let it happen if you hadn’t given him a reason to fight. Do you not know how grateful he is to you for that? How highly he thinks of you?”

Sam sat there staring at Misha. It was definitely Misha now, talking about Cas with such conviction and authority. He wasn’t just playing a role, here, or imagining how a person in Cas’s position would’ve felt. Sam could feel the certainty radiating off of Misha as he spoke.

“It’s true,” Jensen said. “I mean, you probably don’t know about it, because you don’t get to watch your life story on television, but do you have any idea how many times Cas has really gone to bat for you? For Dean, too, but specifically for you?”

“He gave up his army because he refused to kill Dean,” Sam said. He was hard pressed to think of another time Cas had put himself out on his behalf, when Dean wasn’t involved.

“Dude, once he stared fucking Lucifer in the face and told him he couldn’t have you,” Jensen said.

Sam hadn’t known about that, and he was… not surprised, exactly, but it was a pretty big damn deal, hearing about it now. He swallowed hard and remembered another time Cas had sacrificed for him. “He took on all the hell damage from my soul, too. Seeing what it did to an angel, I’m surprised it didn’t kill me outright. He saved my life.”

“Even though he was the reason your wall broke in the first place?” Misha asked, with a strange knowing glint in his eye.

Sam shook his head. “No. He… the wall had already started crumbling. Who knows how much longer it could’ve held together. What he did, taking all the damage into himself so that I’d never have to suffer with it again, he didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, he did,” Misha replied quietly. “He loves you, Sam. He believed he caused your suffering, and he knew he was the only one who could relieve it.”

Sam couldn’t say anything to that. He just sat there, staring at the calm certainty written plainly on Misha’s face.

“After the apocalypse,” Jensen said, breaking the sudden tense silence, “Dean promised you he’d go live a regular life, and give up hunting, so Cas stayed away from him. He ignored Dean’s prayers for a _year_ , because he knew if he answered, Dean would be pulled back into the life. He didn’t want to be the reason Dean broke his promise to you.”

Sam had always regretted making Dean promise to go back to Lisa. Everything about that year was so fucked up, and if he had it all to do over again, he’d have asked Dean to make a very different promise. He could’ve spared them all a lot of heartbreak.

He still didn’t know what he could’ve told Dean to do with himself that would’ve made his life any easier. Anything other than forcing Dean to give up everything he’d ever known. Anything other than setting the stage for what always happens to them when the monsters inevitably catch up to them.

Sam forced himself to stop thinking along those lines. It wasn’t his fault that some of the dick angels decided to try and restart the apocalypse after he’d given everything to try and stop it. It wasn’t his fault that Crowley had set off a shitstorm in monsterland trying to crack Purgatory to steal its souls, or that Cas was desperate enough to stop Raphael to help with Crowley’s  insane plan. No, these were things they’d all forgiven each other for a long time ago. Luckily, Misha wasn’t done yet.

“He healed you of the last of the damage from the trials, even if it meant giving up on the chance to hunt down Gadreel, because you are his friend, Sam,” Misha said. “I don’t even think Jensen and I know how many times he defended you and your brother, or everything he gave up because of those choices. But it’s a lot.”

Sam really thought about all of this, and thought about why the angel had stuck by them all these years. “He knows we’d do the same for him.”

“Of course he does,” Misha replied. “But that’s not why he gave up everything. That’s not why he tore out his grace to save Dean.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, he pulled Dean out of Hell in the first place. I can see why he didn’t like the idea that Dean was headed back there as long as he had the Mark.”

Jensen shook his head. “You know what happened the day before you got rid of the Mark for good?”

Sam thought back, and realized he probably _didn’t_ know what his brother had been up to for nearly a week before he barged into the warehouse waving Death’s sickle around and scaring the shit out of all of them. He’d been holed up with Charlie and Rowena, trying to work out the spell from the Book of the Damned, and had left Cas to check in on Dean back at the bunker once in a while.

Jensen took Sam’s silence as a no, and filled him in. “Cas showed up, and Dean was in a bad place. He was trying to work up the nerve to summon Death and ask for help. He actually,” Jensen paused.

He glanced at Misha, and Sam could see he looked positively grim. Misha replied with a solemn nod as he gently rubbed Jensen’s shoulder as a sort of reassurance. Jensen took a few steadying breaths and then went on. The only outward sign of his discomfort now was a slight rev in the Impala’s engine as he gave her a little more gas.

“He was ready to ask Death to put him out of his misery, Sam. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it together, and he never wanted to go back to being a demon. But then Cas walked in.”

Misha picked up the narrative now. “You probably also don’t know that Dean had already asked Cas to kill him if he was beyond help again.”

“No,” Sam replied, clearing his throat when the word came out barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t know that.”

Misha nodded. “When push came to shove, Dean knew he wouldn’t make Cas go through with it, though. And Cas was willing to do practically anything to save him.”

“He told Dean,” Jensen said, still feeling the pain of that conversation from so many months ago, “that he couldn’t give up. Insisted there had to be a cure. He reminded Dean that he had some pretty damn good reasons to keep fighting. You, Charlie, everyone he loved could be long gone, and Cas would still be there to help him fight. And that’s what changed his mind.”

Misha nodded. “That’s when he set out to summon Death, but instead of begging for his own end, he begged for a cure.”

Sam let all of that sink in. He’d spent the last few months trying not to think about those days leading up to the spell. He was grateful enough that everything seemed to have turned out for the best. Dean and Cas were both alive and healthy, even though Cas was permanently human now. Of course he’d willingly given up his grace to heal Dean. He’d proven time and again that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Dean.

“But what does that have to do with me?” Sam finally asked, remembering what had sparked their whole conversation.

“Everything,” Misha said. “If Dean had given in to the Mark, which he was pretty damn close to doing no matter how hard he resisted, it wouldn’t have just ruined him. It would’ve destroyed you, as well as Cas. That, and he could see what using the Book of the Damned, working with _Rowena_ of all people, and trying to keep all that from your brother was doing to you. Cas didn’t want you to have to live with that on your conscience. He saved all three of you that day.”

Sam stared out at the highway in front of them and let everything sink in. All these secrets, all these details he’d just never known about, all the major things that had happened adjacent to his life that he couldn’t possibly have discovered without having been told by a couple of actors from an alternate universe. It made him wonder what else he didn’t know about the people closest to him.

For the first time in his life, there was no bitterness or resentment attached to that thought. He didn’t feel slighted somehow that he wasn’t omniscient when it came to Dean or Cas, because that would be ridiculous. This time, the notion actually gave him a little bit of peace.

They hadn’t been deliberately keeping secrets that could harm him. They’d done exactly what Bobby’s definition of good family does: they looked out for each other and stood up for each other for no other reason that they _were family_. That’s what people who love each other do.

Sam stretched out in the back seat and chewed over all these thoughts until shortly after they crossed into South Dakota, and Jensen announced they needed gas. He pulled himself together enough to suggest that they should probably grab some lunch while they were stopped. They all agreed, and Jensen looked for the nearest gas station off the highway.


	5. Chapter 5

Lunch was quick, and collected from the drive thru window at a fast food joint next door to a gas station. The weirdest part for Sam was watching Jensen and Misha happily devouring grilled chicken sandwiches. When Jensen had placed their orders, Sam sat momentarily dumbstruck, until Misha laughed at him and he shook it off.

They pulled up to a pump and ate while they filled the gas tank, and then spent a few minutes just walking around before they had to cram themselves back in the car for the last leg of their drive. Sam went inside the little shop to pay, and came back out with a bottle of water for each of them. The scene that awaited him outside stopped Sam in his tracks. Jensen leaned casually against the side of the car with his ankles crossed like he’d seen Dean do a thousand times. What he’d never seen before was the way Misha was all crowded up in his space.

He had to remind himself _again_ that it wasn’t Dean and Cas, though the way they looked at each other, it might as well have been. The only practical difference Sam could discern from forty feet away was that Jensen had his arm around Misha’s waist, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. They both looked so damned happy, Sam didn’t really know how to process it. He almost wished he could bottle it, and share some of that happiness with Dean and Cas when they got home.

Sam got their attention from across the parking lot, and called out, “Be right back,” while waving his phone overhead. He didn’t mind giving them a few more minutes of privacy, and he needed to give Jody a better estimate on when to expect them anyway. Jensen glanced up at him and nodded, and then went right back to smiling at Misha.

When Sam came back to the car a couple of minutes later, Jensen was already seated in the passenger seat, and Misha was once again in the back. Sam handed out water bottles, and Jensen handed him the keys.

“Figured you’d like a turn driving after being squished up in the back all day,” Jensen said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam replied. “You were making good time, though. I don’t really mind if you want to drive again. Just say the word.”

Jensen positively beamed at him, like Sam had given him the Winchester Stamp of Approval or something. “Yeah, yeah. That would be awesome, thanks.”

Sam laughed and shook his head as he started up the car and got back on the road. “I told Jody to expect us by eight. Apparently Alex and Claire are working tonight, but they’ll be home by nine, so you’ll get to meet them, too.”

“They have jobs?” Misha asked.

“Yeah. They’re both taking some courses at the community college during the day, and helping Jody out at the station in the evenings. Just filing and paperwork mostly, but it’s good experience for them.”

“They’re lucky to have someone like Jody in their lives,” Misha said.

Sam nodded, “And she’s lucky to have them, too. They’ve all been good for each other.”

They ate up the miles faster now that they were in South Dakota, and Sam didn’t worry as much about getting pulled over. He had a one hundred percent authentic Sioux Falls Sheriff’s badge, after all, courtesy of Sheriff Mills.

It wasn’t long though before Sam found himself sorting through the day’s events. He kept thinking back to the few comments Jensen and Misha had made about things he’d never even known about, and he found his curiosity piqued.

“Guys,” he said suddenly after a half an hour or so of quiet. “I don’t mean to ask about stuff that’s just none of my business, but… um... “

Misha perked up in the back seat, leaning forward and resting his chin on his folded arms atop the front seat. “You want spoilers!”

Sam thought about that for a moment, and found he couldn’t really argue with Misha’s phrasing. “I, uh, I guess so? But since this is my real life and not something I can rewind and watch again, maybe we could call it the highlight reel.” He glanced at Misha in the rear view mirror and flashed him a quick grin.

“I guess that’s better than calling it the gag reel, right?” Misha leaned over and punched him gently on the shoulder, grinning back at him. “Sure thing, Sam. What do you want to know?”

“How’s he supposed to know that, Mish?” Jensen replied, raising one eyebrow at his husband. “He wants us to tell him shit he _doesn’t_ already know, you know?”

Sam felt the urgent need to clarify, and waved his hand between Jensen and Misha to stop them from saying anything yet. “Just, don’t tell me stuff I _shouldn’t_ know, you know? Private stuff stays private. I have no idea what you guys have broadcast about me and Dean to the rest of your world, so…” Sam repressed the urge to squirm just thinking about the sorts of details of his personal life that were probably common knowledge in some alternate universe. It didn’t bear thinking about, and he couldn’t do anything about it anyway. “You know, I absolutely do _not_ need certain information, if you know what I mean.”

Jensen and Misha grinned at each other, and exchanged a few lines of entirely silent communication. Sam glanced over at them several times, and finally in exasperation shouted, “Knock it off, Dean, and just spill already.” And then he realized he’d done it again. Just like the first time, it seemed to please Jensen to no end.

“I told you he had trouble with character bleed,” Misha said, leaning over toward Sam conspiratorially.

“Fine,” Jensen said, raising one hand in surrender. “I accept it. But before we get into the spilling of secrets here, you have to tell me one thing first. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam agreed instantly. He’d already come to the conclusion that his life was probably an open book to these men, so it wouldn’t hurt to answer whatever they wanted to know, for clarity’s sake.

“What about me in that moment made you think I was your brother?”

“Now _that_ is an excellent question,” Misha replied, sliding from Sam’s shoulder across to Jensen’s, where they both sat expectantly awaiting Sam’s answer.

Jensen nodded agreement, and folded his arms across his chest. “I thought so, too.”

Sam was uncomfortably starting to think it was an excellent question, as well.

“He wasn’t speaking,” Misha prodded when Sam didn’t answer right away. “He wasn’t even moving, really.”

“My face was moving a bit,” Jensen said, tilting his head toward Misha and letting his face move through a variety of expressions from smug, to amused, to innocent little angel batting his eyelashes. “But I bet Dean’s pretty expressive like that. The guy’s kind of an open book, no matter how much he tries to deny it, right?”

“You’re not wrong,” Sam replied, still trying to understand what exactly it was about Jensen’s demeanor that had reminded him so strongly of his brother. And then it hit him. “That’s exactly it, though. The way you were having some sort of silent conversation with Misha; Dean and Cas do the exact same thing. Like they’ve got some sort of secret language only the two of them speak.”

“And this bothers you?” Misha asked carefully.

Sam shook his head, brow furrowed, and then took a deep breath. “Not really, no. That’s just always been their thing. They get each other on a scary level, you know? I’ve never seen that kind of intensity in anyone else before, and it threw me for a second.”

Jensen nodded, relaxing his shoulders and letting his hands drop back into his lap. “He does that with you, too, you know. The weird secret language thing. Where do you think it started? When you were kids, learning to communicate with each other when you were supposed to be quiet out on a hunt, or supposed to be sleeping in some motel room, or in the back seat of the Impala. You guys were raised like little soldiers, and you made that silent battlefield shorthand into a way of life.”

Sam cleared his throat and tugged at his collar, afraid to look over and find some sort of misplaced pity in Jensen’s eyes. “Yeah, the way we were raised kinda sucked.”

“No,” Jensen said, probably louder than necessary, drawing a surprised look from Sam. He begrudgingly reassessed, and amended his original objection.“Well, yeah, kinda. But that’s not what I meant. I just meant that you two learned how to work as a team, and you work so well together and really do share a unique common language because of it. That’s all.”

“And that’s how Dean learned to communicate,” Misha added. “It was only natural that he’d develop a similar sort of communication strategy with Cas, even if it took the angel a while to understand it enough to respond in kind.”

Sam nodded, relaxing again in relief. Yet again he’d been waiting to be judged unworthy or unimportant, or even pitiable, by these men, and yet again they had emphatically validated him and his entire life. He was suddenly feeling a lot more eager to hear some of their so-called spoilers.

“Yeah, yeah. I can accept that,” Sam finally replied. “So what do you think I should know about my own life?”

“With no gratuitous full-frontal nudity,” Jensen added with a stern look at Misha.

Misha sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just ruin all my fun why don’t you. It’s hard for me to remember that’s not Jared, too, you know. It’s not just Sam and you with character bleed issues.”

“Heh, yeah,” Jensen replied. “Wonder how Jared’s handling our literal characters bleeding through into his life.” He looked down at his watch and then stared out the window for a second, before adding, “If they didn’t chicken out, Dean and Cas are probably on stage right now with Jared and Felicia. Wonder if they let her in on the truth, eh?”

Misha made a considering face, and then nodded. “If they’re going through with it, they’d almost have to.”

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, glancing over at them with his brow all scrunched up. “Who’s Felicia?”

“Charlie,” Misha said. “She plays Charlie.”

“Oh! And you think she wouldn’t freak out about it?” Sam wondered aloud.

“She’d freak out about the same way Charlie would,” Jensen replied with a smile in his voice. “She’s probably in geek heaven right about now.”

“Like you were at the prospect of driving Baby, you mean?” Misha teased.

Jensen cleared his throat and sat up straighter in a vain attempt to reclaim a little dignity, but then grinned. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

The two of them nearly fell back into another of their silent conversations until Sam cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry,” Misha said, sliding back to the middle of the seat again, and waving one hand at Jensen to get the ball rolling.

“Sure, uh, lemme think…” Jensen stared out the front window for a few seconds, and then snapped his attention back toward Sam. “Okay, you know that voice mail you got from Dean right before you accidentally popped Lucifer’s cage open?”

Sam cringed, gripping the steering wheel tightly and clenching his teeth, but nodded stiffly. He remembered his brother’s voice, angry, calling him a monster. Telling him there was no going back now, and that Dean was done trying to save him. It had been all his worst nightmares come true in a thirty second voice message. He felt Misha rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, but then Jensen continued.

“It was bullshit. Zachariah changed the message. Dean called to apologize.”

“What?” Sam said, turning so fast to stare at Jensen that the car swerved halfway across the road. At least there hadn’t been anyone in the oncoming lane.

Jensen nodded solemnly. “It’s true. He reached out to you while he was trapped in Zachariah’s fancy waiting room to tell you he’d stand by you no matter what, that you’re still brothers, and nothing would change that. Well, that and he was still pissed at you, but that it didn’t matter.”

Sam focused on the road, and quietly said, “He never told me that.”

Misha shrugged. “He thought he _did_ tell you, you know? He still doesn’t know that you never got his original message, either.”

“Huh,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Guess there’s probably a lot of that sort of thing in our lives, yeah? We got so good and understanding each other without words, sometimes we forget to actually talk about shit like this.”

“You both thought you had the full story, though. You both made assumptions about what the other believed to be the truth based on your own experiences. It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t Dean’s fault. It just was,” Jensen said, sounding a little sad. “That happened a lot in season nine.”

“Season nine?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Season eight’s grand finale was Dean stopping you from completing the trials, and the angels falling,” Misha said. “Season nine picked up from there, and ended with Dean waking up as a demon.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Sam said, once again feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. “That was a pretty damn bad year for us.”

Misha and Jensen both nodded. “Yeah, and it all started out with a lie,” Jensen said. “Metatron was the one who wrote the spells to close off Hell and dump the angels out of Heaven. Dean couldn’t let you throw your whole life away based on a lie.”

“He could only stop one of the spells, though,” Misha added. “Cas flew off to Heaven to confront Metatron while Dean ran into that church to try and stop you.”

“It was too late, though,” Jensen said sadly. “You’d already started burning up from the magic or whatever.”

“And Metatron captured Cas and stole his grace for the spell before he could even fight back,” Misha added. “So he couldn’t get back to you to help repair the damage.”

“You might’ve been willing and ready to die that day,” Jensen said, “But it would’ve killed Dean, too. He and Cas both would’ve been with you sooner if they hadn’t believed Metatron’s lies. They would’ve stopped the trials and figured out a way to heal you, but they didn’t know the truth until it was too late.”

“So he crammed an angel in me instead?” Sam asked angrily. He still wasn’t over that. Hell, he’d probably never be over that. “Like that’s somehow supposed to make it better?”

Jensen shrugged. “He was out of options. He couldn’t let you die because he’d believed a lie. The only hope he had was trusting an angel. And the angel lied, too.”

“But he did heal you,” Misha said, with a little tilt of his head. “Well, mostly anyway. Cas finished the job eventually.”

Sam sat brooding for a few minutes, and Jensen and Misha let him. They both know what Gadreel had used Sam’s body for. There were chunks of time missing from his life that he now knows were the times when Gadreel took over completely. He still remembered, in horrifying jagged flashes, watching his own hands killing Kevin.

Eventually Misha continued the story. “If you hadn’t been carrying Gadreel around inside you, Cas and Charlie would be dead, though, so as far as I’m concerned, it was worth it.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“The reaper who stabbed Cas when you and Dean first found him,” Misha clarified. “Dean told you that she healed Cas, but it was actually you. Or Gadreel wearing you, at least. Same thing when Charlie got hit with that witch’s curse. They both owe you their lives.”

Sam snorted and waved one hand dismissively. “They owe Gadreel their lives, you mean.”

Jensen shook his head and glared at Sam. “You’re gonna take full blame for Kevin’s death, and not take one bit of credit for saving Charlie or Cas? Far as we’re concerned, you can’t have it both ways.”

“You deserve to know the good things that came out of that horrible situation,” Misha said.

Sam sighed, and reluctantly nodded. He didn’t say anything else for a while, instead focusing on letting go of the past. What’s done was done, and it’s not like he could go back and change any of it anyway. Dean had eventually understood Sam’s objections to having been tricked into letting Gadreel possess him, and he’d apologized, but it was a relief knowing that, however awful that time had been, at least Charlie and Cas were still alive now because of him. Even Gadreel had eventually repented, and apologized to him. Metatron had deceived Gadreel, too, and it seemed wrong not to forgive him when he begged for a chance to make things right again. All in all, he really couldn’t expect anything more, especially after Gadreel had sacrificed himself to give Cas a fighting chance against Metatron.

Eventually, Sam was ready to hear more, though. “Okay, what else do you think I should know?”

Jensen glanced at Misha, and then asked, “Did Dean ever tell you about the time Zachariah sent him to the future? Or at least Zachariah’s idea of the future, since we’re not currently experiencing some sort of zombie apocalypse.”

“It was one potential future, that fortunately didn’t come to pass,” Misha clarified unhelpfully.

“Whatever,” Jensen replied, and then waited for Sam to answer.

“All he told me was that Lucifer won, and it was awful,” Sam finally said. “How far into the future did he go, anyway?”

“August of 2014,” Jensen replied. “And yeah, it was pretty bad. You’d said yes to Lucifer, and Dean hadn’t talked to you in five years. He lived in what amounted to a militant refugee camp with a bunch of survivors of the Croatoan outbreak, searching for some way to kill you. When he finally got his hands on the Colt and hunted you down, or Lucifer wearing you anyway, he couldn’t pull the trigger.”

“No,” Sam said almost under his breath. “The Colt didn’t even work on Lucifer. We tried that once.”

“Yeah, a few months _after_ Dean met his future self. Who was an asshole, by the way. Even _Dean_ thought Future Dean was an asshole.”

“To be fair, Future Cas thought Future Dean was an asshole, too,” Misha added.

“Wait,” Sam said. “You were there? I mean, Cas was?”

“Sort of,” Misha replied. “He was fallen, and almost completely human, and basically strung out. He was a shell of himself, and he and Dean could hardly stand to look at each other.”

“So you can see why Dean was so against you saying yes to Lucifer now,” Jensen said. “That whole experience really fucked him up.”

“It’s not that he didn’t trust you, Sam,” Misha said quietly. “He was just terrified of that future coming to pass.”

“Yeah, I can see that now.” Sam digested that bit of information a little easier. It felt like a million years ago now, and he’d long since gotten over the feeling that Dean didn’t think he could win against Lucifer. He’d proven he could, in the end, with Dean’s help. “Okay, yeah.”

“You want more?” Jensen asked tentatively.

“Yeah, hit me,” Sam replied, steeling himself for yet another revelation.

“What do you think,” Jensen turned and asked Misha. “Purgatory?”

“Sure, why not?” Misha replied. “You were there for a little while, Sam, so you know what it was like.”

“Yeah, but Dean was there for a _year_. Plus Benny found us almost as soon as Bobby and I were starting to wonder how the hell we were supposed to get out of there.”

“Yeah, good old Benny,” Jensen said fondly. “I wonder how he’s doing?”

“He’s in Purgatory, Jensen,” Sam replied with a laugh. “So, probably shitty.”

Jensen almost smiled and then shrugged. “Yeah, probably. But that’s where he wanted to be.”

“So what about Purgatory?” Sam prodded.

“Almost as soon as they landed, Cas explained to Dean where they were, and then took off,” Jensen started. “Dean had to fight off a pack of wolves with nothing but his knife, and Cas was just _gone_. As far as he knew, there was no getting out of Purgatory, and his sole mission became finding Cas again. So he started cutting a swath through the place. Even the monsters were terrified of him.”

Sam huffed out a laugh at that. “Yeah, most of the monsters we meet end up afraid of us.”

“No, Sam,” Misha said. “He became a legend in the land of monsters. They called him The Human.”

“Most of them tried to avoid him,” Jensen said. “Or they’d gang up and attack him in groups trying to take him out.”

“And then Benny found him,” Misha said. “Saved his life when three other vamps attacked at once, and then told Dean he knew a way out.”

“The portal,” Sam said, having used it himself.

“Yep,” Jensen replied. “But Dean refused to leave until they found Cas.”

“Cas was not happy to have been found, either,” Misha said. “He’d been running ahead of Dean for months. Dean was fighting his way through every monster imaginable, aside from the one monster hunting Cas, and he’d only run off to keep that monster from turning its sights on Dean.”

Sam was almost afraid to ask. “What was hunting Cas?”

“Leviathan,” Misha said.

“Oh.” Sam didn’t really need any further explanation of that whole situation. He understood his idiot brother and the clueless angel well enough to extrapolate out the rest of the details. It’s what they always did for each other. All three of them, really. Taking the consequences on themselves to spare the others. It made perfect sense, now.

“When they all finally fought their way to the portal,” Jensen said, “Cas refused to even try to leave with Dean. The Leviathan were closing in, and he all but pushed Dean to safety. He intended to stay behind all along. He thought he deserved to be punished, and he saw Purgatory as a fitting way to punish himself.”

“Bullshit,” Sam said, surprising even himself with his outburst. “He didn’t deserve that. _Dean_ didn’t deserve that.” Because Sam once again had to live with a Dean that thought Cas was gone forever. Dean was doing that awful angry-mourning thing he tended to do, bottling up his feelings until they turned sour and came flying out at random moments like acid-coated barbs. It didn’t make it easy for Sam to get back into hunting after his year off, either. It was almost worse than the months-long drinking binge Dean had gone on after Cas disappeared into that lake the year before.

The one time he’d pressed Dean to tell him what had happened, Dean had said that Cas couldn’t hold on. He’d made it sound like Cas had been hurt in their fight to escape, or had tried and failed to make it through the portal with Dean. The truth was even worse than Dean’s story.

For a short time after Cas came back, though, Sam had seen a huge change in his brother. He’d been happier just for having Cas around again, despite so much else going horribly wrong so soon after. Abaddon, the trials, fucking Crowley screwing with the people they’d saved. Sam shook his head sadly.

“Sometimes I wished we could’ve just gone back, you know,” he said. “Just relive the few weeks after Cas came back. Dean hadn’t been that happy in a while.”

Misha smiled gently at him. “Cas wouldn’t want that, though. He didn’t even know it yet, but he was already being controlled by Naomi. She forced him to do some terrible things, most of which you know about already, so I won’t bring them up again.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I know about Samandriel. And what happened with Dean in the crypt.”

“The worst was Heaven’s little training ground, though,” Jensen added. “Talk about a shitty thing to do to someone.”

“Training ground?” Sam asked. “I thought she was reprogramming him with the needle thing?” He waved one hand around his head, remembering with a shudder how they’d found Samandriel in Crowley’s dungeon. He knew they’d tried it on him while he’d been possessed by Gadreel, as well, and he was actually grateful he hadn’t been conscious for it.

Jensen went wide-eyed, and slowly turned to look at Misha, who just shrugged. “I guess you didn’t know about that,” Misha said. “She forced Cas to kill thousands of copies of your brother, so that he would actually be able to go through with it when she ordered him to kill the real Dean.”

“Still couldn’t do it in the end,” Jensen said. “Dean asked Cas how he was able to break free of the mind control, and Cas told him he wasn’t sure. Heh.”

“I don’t think he understood it himself, at the time,” Misha said, smiling a little sadly.

“I wonder if he understands it now,” Jensen mused.

“He does,” Misha said with certainty. “It’s why he always comes back, even after everything that’s happened.”

Jensen pushed out his lower lip and scrunched his eyebrows together in consideration. He didn’t say anything else, but nodded in agreement anyway.

Sam drove along in silence for a little bit, unsure what these men thought they understood about Cas, but unwilling to demand clarification. He had his own theories on the matter, and if he was right, it really wasn’t any of his business to know about it anyway.

Eventually he noticed the gas gauge had dropped down near empty again. They were only an hour or two out from Sioux Falls, and the sun was just starting to set behind them.

“We need to stop for gas, but we’re almost to Jody’s,” He said, noting a billboard advertising a truck stop three miles ahead. “I’ll let her know we’ll be there in time for dinner, and we can get right back on the road again, if you guys want to get out and stretch or hit the head or whatever.”

“Sounds good,” Jensen said.

Misha nodded agreement. “And we promise when we get back in the car, nothing but happy talk, okay?”

Sam took a deep breath and gave a little half-smile at Misha in the rear view mirror. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all that stuff, anyway. Some of it sucked to hear about, but in a really disturbing way it kinda makes me feel a little bit better. So thanks.”

Misha sat forward in his seat again. “You deserve to hear that you’re not a monster, Sam. You deserve to know how much you’re loved, and needed, and respected.”

Jensen reached over and laid one hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing gently in reassurance. “It’s true, even if your brother has a hard time putting it into words.”

Sam felt that awful warm prickly feeling behind his cheekbones and took a shaky breath while he tried to blink back a tear. “Hah,” he said, his voice cracking with forced cheer. “I do know that, but thanks for saying it anyway.”

Hearing those sorts of things from Dean and Cas would be too surreal for words. He really did know they felt that way, even if he sometimes thought he didn’t deserve it. Hearing it from two people who understood not only Dean and Cas’s points of view, but _Sam’s_ point of view, too, was somehow easier to accept. They’d watched his entire life play out as a television drama, and they knew every last ugly little secret he’d thought he’d buried.

He pulled into the truck stop and parked at a gas pump, still thinking about everything Jensen and Misha had told him. Quite against his will he actually felt a steadily growing warmth behind his ribs, and he couldn’t hone in on its source.

Misha and Jensen headed off to the shop attached to the truck stop to pay for their gas and use the men’s room. It gave him a few minutes alone to poke at the feeling that was starting to expand inside his chest. Not only did these actors understand him well enough to know which details of his life he hadn’t been privy to, but they also seemed to understand how much it meant to him to hear about them now.

They didn’t have to share any of that with him. They didn’t have to explain it to him as carefully as they had. And yet, regardless of the incidents they’d chosen to relate to him, the fact that they’d understood him enough to even share any of that knowledge with him meant they probably knew how much he needed to hear it, too. In a weird roundabout way, it felt like forgiveness.

When Jensen and Misha returned a few minutes later, they found Sam standing behind the Impala, half laughing and half crying, looking like someone who’d just laid down an exhausting burden. The pleased and knowing looks on their faces only left Sam laughing harder.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the ride to Jody’s passed in a relative blur, with Sam filling in gaps in Jensen and Misha’s knowledge about their lives in between hunts. They were eager to learn about the sorts of things they all got up to in what passed for a normal day in the lives of the Winchesters. They asked endless questions about research and what they did for fun, about half of which Sam just had to laugh and answer with, “Just wait until we get to the bunker and I’ll show you.” True to their word, the conversation stayed on happier topics.

In between Sam’s tales of prank wars and Dean’s cooking adventures, Jensen and Misha shared frighteningly similar tales of their own prank wars on set. That led to clearing up Sam’s misconceptions about their universe based on his experiences in a relatively similar yet thankfully different universe that one time. Jensen and Jared might not have been brothers in their universe, but they were best friends and were practically inseparable. For some reason, that fact made Sam feel better. It had always upset him that some alternate reality version of him and Dean just hadn’t gotten along. It also reassured him that Jared might feel a little more invested in Dean’s wellbeing while he was trapped in his universe, since he cared so much about Jensen.

He was also pleased to learn that Jared owned neither an alpaca nor a tanning bed. Though Jensen really did own that ridiculous remote controlled helicopter, and it had featured in several of their aforementioned pranks.

It was just after eight when Sam pulled into Jody’s driveway. He parked the Impala, and then turned to face both Jensen and Misha.

“Okay, guys, um…” He hesitated, wondering what the hell he should say. Then he just shook his head. They sort of already knew Jody, so it wasn’t like he needed to prepare them to meet her. “Yeah. I guess you know what’s up.”

Sam laughed to himself and got out of the car. As he shut the door, he heard either Misha or Jensen, or maybe both of them, lose their battle to contain their laughter. He walked up to knock on Jody’s door with a grin that he couldn’t contain any longer.

Jensen and Misha caught up to him, still occasionally bursting out with a snort or a giggle, but mostly having gotten themselves under control. Sam shook his head and muttered, “Jerks.”

“Aw, Sam,” Jensen said, stepping up on the porch. “It’s okay. It’s not like this is normal, even for you. We get it.”

Sam only had a second to turn and smile at Jensen to show there were no hard feelings before Jody opened the door.

“Hey, Sam,” She said, and pulled him into a quick hug, before turning to the other two men. She looked them both over critically, and then turned back to Sam with one hand on her hip and a disbelieving look on her face. “So they’re not actually Dean and Cas?”

Sam shot a quick glance over his shoulder at Jensen and Misha, who were just standing there politely waiting to be introduced. “Nope. This is Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins.”

“This is so freaking weird,” Misha said, at the same time Jensen offered an oddly pitched and slightly stuttered, “Nice to meet you.”

“Weird is right,” Jody said, shaking her head and smiling, before stepping back to let them in. “And you’re sure they’re not…” She finished her sentence with a wavery hand gesture and a glare.

Sam laughed. “No, they’re human. No worries.”

“We don’t even have real monsters in our universe,” Misha said apologetically as he stepped into Jody’s comfortable living room..

“You lucky devil,” Jody replied, as she led them through to the dining room. “Dinner’s ready, if you boys are hungry.”

“Starving, thanks,” Sam said. “It smells great, too. I was getting sick of diner food.”

“It’s just lasagna,” Jody said, slicing into it and portioning it out on plates. “Hasn’t Dean been cooking for you lately? Or has he finally given that up for an entirely cheeseburger-based diet?”

Jensen laughed at that, but Sam answered. “We’ve been on the road a lot for the last month or so.”

Jody nodded knowingly, giving Sam a motherly sort of glare as she handed him a plate. “You boys work too hard as it is. It’s good you’ve decided to take it easy for a bit. Even if it wasn’t entirely voluntary,” she added, with a nod toward Jensen and Misha.

“So what do you two think of,” Jody waved the spatula in the air as she handed a plate to Jensen, suddenly at a loss for words. “All this, I guess?”

“So far all we’ve seen is Laramie, Wyoming, a couple of truck stops, and a bunch of highways,” Jensen replied, thanking Jody for the food. “It’s not that much different than where we’re from, to be honest.”

“If you’re lucky, that’s all you’ll see,” Jody answered, handing a plate to Misha before serving herself and sitting down.

“We’re headed back to the bunker tomorrow,” Sam said. “We’ve got two more days before Dean and Cas are back, and I figured it was safest to stay off the radar if we can.”

"I guess you've got them warded six ways from Sunday, then," Jody said, glancing up at Sam. She dropped her fork in a huff when Sam stopped chewing, turning his wide-eyed stare from Jody to Jensen and Misha. "Oh for fuck's sake, Sam."

Jody excused herself from the table and stepped over to the sideboard, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box filled with various protective charms and amulets. She sifted through them until she found what she was looking for, and then handed several charms each to Jensen and Misha. Sam sat there contrite, while Jody picked up his slack.

"You boys have anti-possession tattoos?" she asked.

They both shook their heads, and Jensen said, "The makeup department puts them on every time we're gonna be shirtless in a scene."

Jody gave Sam a pointed look, and then rolled her eyes. "Then you better wear these 24/7 while you're here, just to be on the safe side."

"Yes, ma'am," Misha replied, dutifully hanging the thin cord around his neck and tucking the charms under his collar.

When she'd witnessed Jensen do the same, Jody nodded, and they all went back to concentrating on their dinner. It was a strange sort of meal, nobody knowing quite what to say to the others, using the easy excuse of the delicious food to put off any more conversation for a bit. After a few minutes, though, Misha broke the silence.

“How are things going with Claire and Alex?” he asked, and then froze, as if wondering if he’d stepped over some invisible line. “It’s just that we’ve been on hiatus for the last few months, and we haven’t read any of the scripts for the new season yet.”

Jody, however, seemed pleased by the question. “It’s great, actually. They’re both taking some time to figure out what they want to do with their lives, going to school, working, and educating themselves on what’s out there so they can protect themselves.”

“They’re not hunting, are they?” Jensen asked, sounding just like a concerned dad. Sounding an awful lot like Dean, actually.

Sam laughed a little bit around a bite of salad, and Jody smiled softly, putting down her fork. “They don’t go looking for hunts, but they’ve picked up one or two here and there.”

“It’s all good, Jensen,” Sam said. “Dean and Cas have been keeping a close eye on them, and Jody’s awesome all on her own with them.”

“We know that,” Jensen said, regarding Jody with something approaching awe. “The way you took down that goddess, Vesta? Bad. Ass.”

“Hopefully I never need to be that badass again,” she replied, now more than a little curious to know how much these men knew about her life. “So just how far behind is your show?”

“Last season’s finale was a sort of cliffhanger,” Misha said. “Right after Cas gave Dean his grace.”

Jody tilted her head, and glanced up at the ceiling while she counted backward. “So about two and a half months ago, then?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they’ve got a lot of catching up to do, right?”

Jody laughed once, and then stood and began clearing plates. Jensen and Misha rose to help her, but she refused to let them. “You’re guests, but you can keep me company while I clean up.”

They all relocated to the kitchen, and talked about everything from the actress who plays Jody on their show to how her life had changed now that she had two teenage girls living with her. At one point she mentioned Donna Hanscum, and wasn’t sure if Jensen and Misha would know who she was talking about. She was pleasantly surprised that they did.

“We stay in touch,” Jody said. “We keep our ears open to anything from the inhuman side of the street, and try to help each other out whenever anything fishy turns up. It’s actually been nice having someone else to turn to, other than you boys.”

Misha laughed at that, and gave Jensen a knowing look. “That would explain the fans’ push for a spinoff, I suppose.”

“Makes sense,” Jensen said with a shrug.

“What makes sense now?” Jody asked, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and turning to face Jensen and Misha where they’d perched against the counter across the room.

Jensen glanced at Misha, a little worried for a moment. “Non-disclosure clauses probably aren’t binding in alternate universes, right?”

Misha threw back and his head and laughed. “I dare them to prove anything we say and do here,” he replied. “I think we’re safe.”

Jensen watched Misha laugh, looking immensely pleased with himself, and then sidled up right next to him and wrapped one arm around his husband’s waist. He turned back to Jody, who only looked a little weirded out by the casual intimacy, and answered her.

“The network’s thinking about creating a new show about you, Donna, Claire, Alex, Charlie, and a bunch of other women who’ve appeared on Supernatural.”

Misha added, “And it makes sense, when you think about it. If you’re forming a sort of hunter network of your own up here, training new hunters, looking out for each other, and making the world a better place, then it’s only natural to think that your story would bounce across the dimensions to our world in the same way that Supernatural did.”

Jody shot Sam a skeptical look, but then grinned. “I can get behind that.”

“So can Kim and Briana,” Jensen said, clarifying with, “The actresses who play you and Donna.”

“More power to ‘em,” Jody said. “I just hope this doesn’t mean my life’s about to be turned upside down.”

Misha tried to look reassuring, but mostly came across as unsure. “No more so than usual, I’d hope.”

“I think they’re kind of aiming for a show that’s the opposite of Supernatural, actually,” Jensen said. “Our show is about two boys who’ve lost everything, but the new show will be about a bunch of women who’ve found a family, found a place in the world together.”

“And still occasionally have to gank a vampire,” Jody added, grinning at the notion.

Misha grinned back. “Nope, mustn’t forget the ganking. It wouldn’t be Supernatural without intermittent blood spatter.”

Jody yawned, and caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock. “Nine thirty,” she said. “I’ve been up since three am. We got a call about a mugging out behind the university library that for some reason required my immediate attention, and I never did get back to sleep.”

“Is it something you need me to look into?” Sam asked.

Jody shook her head. “Nah. Turned out to be a fraternity prank thing, and the idiots were too embarrassed to admit why they were running around in the middle of the night in their skivvies.”

“Terrifying,” Sam commented, trying to hold in a laugh.

“I’ve seen worse things on college campuses,” Misha replied, staring up toward the ceiling as he mused. “Like the time I found a live sheep in the back seat of my car.”

Jensen laughed out loud, obviously familiar with the story, while Jody and Sam just stared at him. “Do we even want to know what that was about?”

Misha shrugged, and told them the whole story of the University of Chicago’s annual scavenger hunt, which led into a description of the hunt he led every year for his fans. By the time he’d finished, Jody was practically in tears from laughing, but yawning again.

“Alex and Claire should’ve been home by now,” she said. “I wonder what’s keeping them?”

Misha shot Jensen and apologetic look, but then offered his own theory. “Perhaps Claire just doesn’t want to see yet another person wearing her father’s face.”

“Oh god,” Sam choked out. “I didn’t even think of that. Shit. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.”

Jody reached out and patted Sam’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I didn’t think of it either. I was just too eager to see them for myself. I should’ve talked to her first.”

“We get it,” Jensen said, pulling Misha in closer. “We can take off, and you can call Claire and tell her we’re gone. We didn’t mean to keep her out of her own home.”

“I guess that’s probably for the best,” Jody said, disappointed. “I was gonna let you guys have the guest room or the couch for the night, but you still have the keys to the cabin, right Sam? You’re welcome to drive out and spend the night there.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, and it’s an hour closer to the bunker anyway. It’ll give us a head start tomorrow. Tell Claire we’re sorry about all this, will you?”

“Definitely,” Jody said, giving Sam another tight hug before pushing him out of the kitchen, and then taking Jensen and Misha’s hands. “Let me know how everything goes with you two. It really was an interesting night, meeting you.”

The two men pulled her into an impromptu group hug, and thanked her for her hospitality. “Hopefully this is the strangest thing that happens to you for a long, long time,” Misha said with a grin.

Jody laughed, and rolled her eyes. “That’s a nice thought, but knowing my luck, it won’t be.”

She gave each of them a hug, and then pulled back, giving them a considering once-over before glancing behind them to make sure Sam was out of earshot.

“So you two…” she trailed off, pointing one inconspicuous finger between them.

“What about us?” Misha prodded quietly, a tiny hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“You guys have really been together for a long time, haven’t you,” she answered. “Like together-together.”

Jensen nodded. “About a year and a half longer than you’ve known Sam and Dean, yeah. Why, is that surprising or something?”

Jody shook herself out of whatever thoughts she was having, and smiled at Jensen. “Not in the way you’d think, no.”

At her strange reply, Misha leaned in close to Jody, tugging Jensen with him. He flashed a devious smile at Jensen, and then turned it on Jody. “You can’t believe they haven’t figured it out either, can you.”

Jody made a fine show of pretending she had no idea what they were talking about, but she cast one more glance over Misha’s shoulder at Sam in the other room before leaning in close and whispering, “Every time Sam calls I half expect an apoplectic fit about having found them _in flagrante_. I figure it’s just a matter of time, if they can ever get over themselves long enough to figure it out.”

Jensen laughed, but immediately covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle himself. He turned around to make sure Sam hadn’t noticed, before whispering back, “You never know. Three days in Paris might do it.”

Jody smiled at that thought, then shrugged. “If it doesn’t, I’m considering an intervention.”

They all grinned at that, and then Jody followed them to the front door, where Sam stood waiting for them. One look at their smiling faces, and Sam couldn’t help but smile too.

“Thanks again, Jody,” Sam said, as she opened the front door for them. “Dinner was great, as always. And sorry about Claire. I know she’s warmed up to Cas, but I should’ve made sure this was okay with her first.”

“She’ll be fine, Sam,” Jody said, stepping out into the warm summer evening.

To everyone’s surprise, Claire was outside, leaning against the Impala and presumably waiting for them.

Jody, unable to suppress the mothering instinct, spoke first. “Claire, honey, you’re home. Where’s Alex?”

“She dropped me off and went out to buy emergency cake, in case I needed cheering up after this,” Claire said, with a fond roll of her eyes. “She insisted.”

“I’m sorry to have put you through this, Claire,” Misha said. “It was thoughtless of us.”

Claire just smiled at him and shook her head. “I was a little freaked out at first, I’ll admit. But you didn’t ask for this either. And you’re still _you_. You _always were_ you. You just happen to channel Castiel once in a while for a paycheck. I get it.”

Misha shifted a little uncomfortably, and asked. “So you’re not upset with me? Because I have also, uh, _channeled_ your father, technically.”

Sam watched them both carefully. Misha was going to great pains to just be himself, rather than taking on any hint of Cas, or Jimmy, or any other character he’d ever played. Sam thought it probably helped that he was still clinging to Jensen like a lifeline, and Claire seemed to appreciate his efforts. After a tense moment, she smiled at him, and then looked down at her feet.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready to have to fit another personality into my memories of my dad, you know?” she said eventually. “But then I figured I’d regret not meeting you. Aside from Cas, you’re probably the only person I’ll ever meet who understands what my dad went through, at least a little bit.”

Misha nodded, and let go of Jensen. He took a few steps toward Claire, and said, “I can’t even begin to imagine what he went through, giving up his family and letting an angel take over him like that. I played it on television, but you lived it, and all I know is that Cas would do anything to give you your father back if he could.”

Claire glanced up at him long enough for Misha to notice a tear rolling down her cheek. He stepped right up close to her, and whispered, “He can’t give your dad back, but he’s doing his best to be there for you himself. He really does love you, Claire. He thinks of you as his family now.”

She took the last step forward and hugged Misha, and he just held her for a minute. It was almost impossible for him not to fall a little bit into character at that point, and his voice dropped down to Castiel’s register while he whispered words of comfort and understanding. Strangely enough, it seemed to help.

When she stepped back, rubbing her eyes a bit, she smiled gratefully at Misha, and then excused herself into the house. The rest of them stood there stunned for a moment, until Jensen moved back to Misha’s side. Jody seemed torn over whether or not she should let Claire have a moment to herself or if she should go in right away and fuss over her.

“Well, I should probably go make sure she’s gonna be okay,” Jody finally said.

Sam nodded, and gave Jody one final hug. “She’ll be fine,” he assured her. “This is hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to her.”

Jody shook her head sadly. “Sometimes it’s not the bad things that really get to you the most.”

“We might not know Claire in our regular lives,” Jensen said. “But we know Kathryn, who plays Claire on our show. She’s an amazing young woman. I think she’ll be just fine.”

Misha pulled out Cas’s phone, and sent Claire a quick text message. As he typed, he said, “Sam told us that she would miss Castiel’s daily messages. It’s the least I can do to send her this one.” He sent the message and tucked the phone away again without another word.

“Well,” Sam said, breaking the awkward silence. “We should probably get going. It’s getting late, and we’ve still got a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jody said. “You boys take care of each other out there.”

“You too, Jody,” Sam replied, as they all piled into the car. “I’ll keep you updated on everything. Let me know how Claire’s doing, okay?”

“Will do, Sam.”

“Thank you again, Jody,” Jensen called out from the passenger seat.

“Any time,” she replied with a grin. “And by any time, I mean hopefully never again, right?”

“We promise to do our best to stay out of your universe from now on,” Misha replied, just before Sam climbed in and shut the door.

Just under an hour later, they pulled up outside Jody’s family vacation cabin, exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Sam showed them to Jody’s room, which was the only one in the house with a bed large enough to accommodate two grown men. He considered just passing out on the couch, but managed to drag himself to the room that used to belong to Jody’s son and had now been redecorated by Alex . He kicked off his shoes before stumbling into bed, falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

 

 _**_ Misha’s text to Claire _: Claire, you are a remarkable human being and I feel honored to have met you. The people in your life are lucky to have you, and I’m pretty sure they’re well aware of that fact. At least, I know Cas is. - Misha_


	7. Chapter 7

On Sunday morning, Sam awoke to what sounded like Dean and Cas talking quietly just outside his room. It took him a minute to remember where he was, but the last twenty-four hours came rushing back to him as soon as he opened his eyes and noticed the walls covered in Alex’s photographs. There were plenty of pictures of Claire, Jody, and Alex herself, even one of him with Dean and Cas sitting on the Impala, mixed in with shots of everything from normal afternoon traffic in Sioux Falls to haunting shots of the woods around the cabin at dusk and dawn.

There was only one hunting-related photo that Sam could see; a selfie of Claire and Alex looking absolutely exhausted, covered in dirt and leaning back against a headstone. It was either some sort of commemoration of a successful salt and burn, or they were planning to go as zombies for Halloween and kept the picture for reference purposes.

He straightened out the covers on Alex’s bed, since he hadn’t even bothered to crawl under them, pulled on his shoes, and then headed out to find Jensen and Misha. He didn’t expect there to be much in the way of food at the cabin, since Jody hadn’t been back there in at least a few weeks, as far as he knew. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen and was hit by the delicious smell of strong coffee, he sent out a silent thanks to Jody for at least keeping the bare necessities for life on hand. Jensen stood at the counter, pouring a mug for Sam and himself, and then joining Misha at the table.

“Morning, guys,” Sam said, accepting the coffee Jensen slid across the table to him with a grateful nod. “You sleep okay?”

Jensen smiled and nodded as he leaned back and rested one arm along the back of Misha’s chair while blowing the steam off his mug. “Like a log.”

“That’s what happens when you sleep way out in the woods like this,” Misha added, his elbows resting on the table to prop his own mug at convenient sipping height. He glanced at Jensen out of the corner of his eye and smirked. “Surrounded by logs. Jen was just trying to blend in.”

“Shut it, Mish,” Jensen replied with a grin, raising one hand to ruffle the back of Misha’s hair. “At least I wasn’t sawing logs.”

“Touche,” Misha replied, returning his full attention to his coffee. “I take it you had a decent night, too, Sam?”

Sam couldn’t help but smile at their banter. “Yeah, not too bad, all things considered.”

Jensen snorted into his mug, and set it down on the table. He reached down and pulled Dean’s phone out of his pocket, fiddling around with it until he pulled up a specific text conversation.

“I didn’t want to reply, for obvious reasons,” Jensen said. “But I thought you should know that Charlie’s been texting Dean for the last half hour or so. I figured I’d leave it up to you to let her know what’s happened here.” Jensen waved his free hand between himself and Misha.

“What did she say?” Sam asked, leaning over the table, suddenly worried for their friend. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Jensen’s sly little smile grew into a wide grin as he scrolled back through the half a dozen increasingly eager messages. He sneaked a quick peek at Misha, who just shrugged, so he went on. “She wanted to know if Dean successfully convinced you to give them a break from the relentless hunting.”

Sam sat heavily back in his chair. “Huh. I wonder if she put Dean up to that?”

“Put him up to what?” Misha asked.

“He’s been pestering me for a while,” Sam replied. “Weeks, actually. He wanted to take a vacation. Like, a real vacation. Which is probably why he ended up in your world.”

“Do you want me to text her back and tell her he got his wish, then?” Jensen asked, “Because I’m not sure how to explain all this to her, and I figured she might take it better coming from you.”

Sam tried to bend his mind around the problem, and then gave up and pulled out his own phone, wondering how best to condense their situation into text message sized chunks. He had to tell her something, though, or she’d just keep trying to text Dean. If she didn’t get a reply soon, she’d start to worry, and he couldn’t have that. Once she knew the whole story, though, Sam didn’t think she’d rest until she got to meet Jensen and Misha for herself.

“You know the minute she gets this text,” Sam said, waggling his phone in the air, “She’s going to jump in her car and drive straight to the bunker, if she’s not already there. I assume it’s fine with you guys, but I figured I should ask whether or not you mind possibly sacrificing the rest of your time here to Charlie before I enlighten her.”

Jensen waved his hand toward Sam. “It’s not a sacrifice, believe me. You do what you gotta do. It’s all good with us.”

“We can handle Charlie,” Misha added happily. “Bring her on.”

Sam smiled and nodded, and sent Charlie a quick message.

>> _Dean and Cas got a very unexpected vacation. They’ll be back Monday night. They’re out of cell range until then._

Charlie replied almost instantly, wondering how Sam knew she’d been texting Dean if they were out of cell range, so he did his best to explain what happened in short message bursts. As soon as he’d sent one that included the phrases “alternate universe,” and “swapped out with actors,” his phone started ringing. He answered it, and then nearly dropped it when Charlie started screaming in his ear.

_“What do you mean actors? Alternate universe? Are they going to be okay? What the hell is going on?_ ”

“Charlie, calm down,” Sam said. “They’re fine! Stop shouting! I’m putting you on speaker. Please don’t break our ears.”

“Our ears? They’re there with you? They can hear me?” Charlie asked, as Sam set his phone down on the table between them.

“We can hear you just fine,” Misha said.

Jensen tried to contain his laughter, as he leaned in toward Misha and said, “She sounds just like Felicia.”

“I heard that, Dean. Or whatever your name is,” Charlie replied. “Who’s Felicia?”

“The actress who plays you on our show,” Misha replied.

“Felicia, huh? I guess I can live with that,” Charlie replied. “So who the hell are you, and what have you done with Dean and Cas?”

Jensen finally cracked, and laughed. “It’s more like what they’ve done with us,” he said. “They’re enjoying a long weekend in Paris, and we’re here taking a tour through our less-fictional-than-originally-believed character’s lives.”

“You guys aren’t pulling my leg here, are you.” Charlie said. It wasn’t a question; more like she was trying to convince herself it was the truth. “Because you sound an awful lot like Dean and Cas.”

“Trust me, Charlie,” Sam said, thinking back over every moment in the last day that had jarringly reminded him that these two men were a happy couple from a very different reality, and not his brother and his best friend. He couldn’t imagine Dean so openly flirting with Cas, or Cas happily dragging Dean off to shower together. He quickly put those thoughts out of his mind. “They’re definitely not Dean and Cas.”

She made a sound like a pained animal, and then asked quietly, “So you guys are headed home now?”

“We’ll be there in about six hours,” Sam said. “We’ve got to stop for supplies on the way. I suppose you’ll be meeting us there, so we’ll pick up the beer if you bring the pizza.”

“Deal,” she replied. After a short pause, she tentatively asked, “So, you’re actors? What’s that like?”  
Jensen looked like he was about to answer her, but Sam knew once Charlie started going, there’d be no stopping her, and they still had a long drive ahead of them. He snapped the phone up, and turned off the speaker. “We haven’t even had breakfast yet, Charlie, and we’re still technically in South Dakota. You can pester Jensen and Misha to death in person, in six hours.”

“Fine,” she replied. “Jensen and Misha? They’re actually named Jensen and Misha? Which one’s Dean and which is Cas?”

“Charlie,” Sam warned, and then sighed, absently standing up to pace, and rubbing one hand over his face. “I promise we’ll answer every question you can think up over dinner tonight, okay?”

“Can I have just the one answer first?” she asked. “Then I promise I’ll hang up and let you scavenge for breakfast.”

“Jensen is Dean and Misha is Cas,” he answered. “Happy now?”

“Not even remotely,” Charlie said. “But yeah, a deal’s a deal. Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you in a few. Happy trails, bitches!”

Sam picked up his coffee again. It was cool enough to just chug it down now, so he finished it quickly as he walked to the sink to wash out the mug. “I guess you guys know what you’re in for.”

“We do,” Misha replied solemnly. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Same here,” Jensen replied.

Sam set his mug on the dish drainer to dry, and then noticed Jensen scrolling back through Charlie’s texts to Dean, focused intently on his brother’s phone with a strange look on his face.

“Is everything okay?” Sam asked cautiously. He knew Dean’s texts weren’t any of his business. Strangely enough, though, he sort of felt like they _were_ Jensen’s business.

Jensen looked up at him, and nodded, the weird faraway smile melting back into pleasant contentment.

“It’s all good,” he replied, shoving Dean’s phone back into his pocket. “It’s just that we start filming again in about a week, but we’re picking back up where you guys were almost three months ago. We’re a little bit behind, and being here’s like trying to binge watch half a season of the show in one sitting. There’s a lot to take in.”

“Understatement,” Misha muttered.

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I can imagine. It’s a lot for me to take in, too, and I live here.”

A strange yet comfortable silence fell over them as Jensen and Misha finished their coffee. When Jensen stood to wash their mugs, Sam said, “So, breakfast, then we’ll stop for groceries, and hopefully get to the bunker before Charlie self-destructs from anticipation.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jensen agreed.

***

After stopping at the first McDonalds they passed for a quick bite, the rest of the ride went by a lot more quickly than they could’ve expected. Sam let Jensen drive again, and he insisted that they needed to listen to a few Kansas albums before they officially crossed the border into Kansas. As soon as Carry On Wayward Son started, Jensen shot Misha a sly grin as he cranked up the volume, and then proceeded to sing at the top of their lungs.

At one point during the song, Sam leaned over the front seat and interrupted Jensen’s steering wheel drumming and Misha’s frankly hilarious air guitar solo, practically shouting in order to be heard over the music.

“You guys really like this song, huh?”

Misha unscrunched the look of intense concentration from his face, and turned to smile and nod at Sam before whipping right back into his mockery of tortured rock musician angst. Sam could only laugh and sit back to watch the show. He obviously wasn’t getting anything more out of them until the song was over, at least. He spared one moment to wonder if they were just going to keep up this act for the rest of the drive, and then remembered something that had him bolting upright in his seat.

Sam had suddenly recalled the last time he’d heard that song, and it sent a little chill up his spine. It was a very different arrangement, but it was one of the musical numbers in the play based on the Supernatural books that girls’ school put on. He’d been a little preoccupied with trying not to become an unwilling sacrifice to a determined goddess at the time, but he definitely remembered the song now; sung a capella, sweet and haunting. It was about as different in tone as it could possibly be from the enthusiastic rendition Jensen and Misha were performing now, but it still struck him the same way. As much as the men in the front seat seemed to be enjoying themselves, Sam couldn’t wait for the song to be over. He had some more questions for them.

When it finally ended, Jensen gave one last shout, high-fived Misha, and then turned the volume back down to non-deafening levels. Sam finally had to ask, “So, are you guys just really big Kansas fans or something?”

Misha snorted, and switched the music off entirely, batting Jensen’s hand away when he complained and tried to turn it back on. “In a manner of speaking,” he replied.

Jensen sighed at the lack of background music, but nodded. “That’s basically become the theme song for our show.”

Sam leaned his elbows on the front seat again, and asked. “What do you mean, like the opening credits?”

Misha shook his head. “At the beginning of every episode, there’s a little musical montage recapping the important bits that are relevant to that particular episode. They almost always use a different song for every episode, but they always use this song in the season finale. It’s become our end-of-the-road song.”

“Except season one,” Jensen said, and then shrugged. “They used it in the second to last episode.”

“And they did a version of it for the play,” Misha added, “Even though I wasn’t in that one. Technically.”

Jensen grinned mischievously, but kept his eyes on the road. “Cas was cute as a button in that one, though.”

Misha hummed thoughtfully, while Sam sat there gaping, looking back and forth between them.

“Play?” Sam finally asked. “About a year ago, right? All girls, creepy scarecrow, exploding purple goo?”

“That’s the one,” Jensen replied happily. “Those girls were awesome. Plus the fans went nuts at the ending.”

“The end of the play?” Sam asked, wondering if he’d missed something. “They did sing Carry On Wayward Son, I remember that.”

Misha shook his head, and almost said something, but then bit his lip. “I think this might be another spoiler,” he said.

“He should at least have the bare facts,” Jensen said. “We don’t need to share the fan theories, but we could tell him what happened and let him draw his own conclusions.”

“Is this gonna be another one of those painful truths from yesterday?” Sam asked.

Jensen and Misha shared a few quick glances that somehow conveyed an entire conversation, before Misha shrugged and then Jensen nodded.

Jensen took a deep breath, and asked, “You remember Marie, right?”  
Sam thought back to that hunt, and he definitely remembered her. “She wrote the play, right? And she played me.”

“That’s the one,” Jensen said. “Did she tell you she sent a ticket to the play to Carver Edlund’s publisher, inviting him to the performance?”

Sam shook his head. “No, she didn’t. But Chuck’s dead. Cas said he had to be dead, because there could only be one prophet at a time. He had to have died before Kevin became the new prophet.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man, but Carver Edlund showed up at that play, and personally congratulated Marie on a job well done.”

“At least, Rob’s face was on screen for ten whole seconds, telling Marie she done good,” Misha added.

“Who’s Rob?” Sam said, before quickly adding, “Don’t tell me. He’s the actor who plays Chuck.”

“Bingo,” Jensen said. “Fans were uploading videos of themselves watching the episode. Pretty much universal screaming. It was nuts.”

“It was a nicer sort of nuts than the reactions to you coming back to life with black demon eyes,” Misha added. “But yeah, still pretty fucking nuts.”

“So Chuck’s not dead? Is he still a prophet, then?” Sam asked, unsure whether he was happy or outraged about that. Then he really thought about what that might mean, and groaned, resting his forehead against the back of the seat in front of him. “Please don’t tell me he’s still out there writing Supernatural books.”

“I imagine Dean would cancel all his vacation plans to hunt him down,” Misha suggested. “But we just don’t know. That was his only scene in the last five years, and the writers haven’t mentioned him again since.”

“Huh,” Sam replied. “I’ll have to ask Cas if it’s possible for someone to resign as prophet, or to lose the job somehow. Otherwise, he should be dead.”

Misha shrugged. “Maybe his job was just finished. The apocalypse fizzled out, and his part of the story was complete. And to be fair, there wasn’t much to write about for a while after that.”

Sam rolled his eyes, remembering his year as a soulless hunting machine. “Nothing I’d want to read about, anyway.”

A distant and sad look fell over Jensen’s face as he ticked off facts with raised fingers. “You’d jumped in the pit, and when you came back you weren’t in any state to give a shit what had happened to anyone. Dean promised you he’d stay out of the life, and he did. Cas had his own troubles to sort out in Heaven,” he replied. “None of you ever went back to check on Chuck again, or you probably would’ve found his house deserted.”

“So what, did he run off to hide from the apocalypse?”

Jensen tilted his head back and forth, considering. “The fans are still debating it, but in his last shot on screen, he just sort of… disappeared.”

“Disappeared.” It wasn’t really a question, more a dismissal of the notion. “How so?”

“Just,” Misha made a little gesture with his hands like a stage magician performing a trick. “There one minute, then poof, gone, vanished.”

“That’s… just fucking weird,” Sam replied after a few moments. “And you guys don’t know why, or what happened to him? I mean, we suspected he might still be out there somewhere because Charlie discovered that _someone_ kept publishing books, at least for a while, but we never had any proof it was Chuck.”

“You might consider getting in touch with Becky to see if she’s just got a stockpile of his old manuscripts,” Misha suggested. “Or if he’s still sending her new material.”

“So you think he’s still out there? Still writing?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Jensen replied hesitantly.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, before coming to a decision. “You guys know something, don’t you? Something you don’t want to tell me. Is it bad?”

“Mmmm, not bad, per se,” Misha replied. “Just unconfirmed theories. I’m not sure the writers even know the what to make of it, and they _wrote_ it.”

Jensen shivered a little and slowly nodded in agreement. “It’s creepy as fuck, now that we’re actually sitting _here_ , riding down the highway in Kansas, in _Baby_ , with Sam fucking Winchester… to think the writers of our show had a little moment of prophecy like one of Chuck’s visions.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. “I thought your world didn’t have any magic? No angels or demons or God or anything.”

“Funny you should say that,” Misha said, turning to look very seriously at Sam. “Since our show has been a pretty accurate blow-by-blow account of your actual life, I think it’s likely that some of _your_ universe’s magic, or whatever you want to call it, is bleeding over into our world, even in such an inert and benign state as a television show.”

“Okay,” Sam said, trying to digest that explanation for the similarities and differences between their parallel universes. The how and why didn’t matter. He didn’t need to understand the mechanics of the metaphysics involved to know there was some other point Jensen and Misha were very carefully and deliberately dancing around the edges of. “So what’s this big secret you’re doing your best not to tell me?”

A few seconds of silent tension finally broke when Misha sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to stave off a headache.

“The prevailing theories are that Chuck either ascended to heaven like Elijah did when his duty to record the events of the apocalypse was complete,” Misha said, and then trailed off.

“Or?” Sam pushed.

“Or that he was somehow an unwitting vessel for God.” Jensen said.

“God.” Sam said, deadpan. “You think Chuck was actually God, and we didn’t know it. That _Cas_ didn’t know it. That... guy. Was God.” The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed to Sam. “I mean, have you met him? I just… Chuck… God. The dude hit me in the face with a plunger once. No way.”

“Kinda shakes your faith a bit, huh?” Misha asked with a smirk.

Sam just shook his head. He couldn’t believe that they’d all been in the presence of God and might not have even known it. He struggled to come up with a way to integrate that theory with his own experiences, and was coming up empty. “Chuck was a wreck, though. He was barely holding himself together most of the time, and the rest of the time he was passed out drunk.”

“Like I said,” Jensen replied, raising one hand, palm up as if offering an apology. “They’re just theories. We really don’t know for sure.”

“My current favorite line of reasoning is that God was pulling a Gadreel, just sort of low-level riding around in Chuck most of the time, hiding out in plain sight, as it were,” Misha said. “But yeah, we really can’t say for certain. Sorry, Sam.”

Sam nodded, staring dazedly out the front window for a while, before speaking quietly, almost afraid of the direction his own mind was leading him. “The last time I saw him, I threatened his life. Did I threaten to kill God? To his actual face?”

Jensen laughed. “Nah, Sam, you threatened Chuck. Even if God was hiding out in his meatsuit, I’m betting he would’ve understood.”

“Holy shit,” Sam replied, covering his face with his hands and sliding down the seat in defeat. “Now I know why I ended up in fucking Hell.”

“So if you do happen to bump into Chuck again at some point,” Misha added, “You might want to ask him about it. Just saying.”

Sam groaned. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I think I really need to call Becky.”

“Is this the town with the grocery store?” Jensen asked, interrupting Sam’s brooding with pesky practicalities.

“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his face and then running his hands back through his hair. Sam picked himself back up again and glanced around as they slowed down to the town’s speed limit. “This is Hastings.”

As Jensen followed his directions to the store, Misha turned and rested one elbow on the seat, looking directly at Sam. “You couldn’t have known, Sam. I’m pretty sure _Chuck_ didn’t even know, at the time.”

“Yeah,” Sam said disdainfully. “But the whole time, through the whole fucking apocalypse, God just sat on his ass and did nothing. He could’ve stopped it at any time, and he just sort of hid out and watched all that shit happen. _Thousands_ of people died. Probably even more than that. And after everything we went through to stop it, he just sat around while Raphael tried to start the whole bullshit process all over again.”

Misha narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head, and for a second Sam could swear Castiel had jumped into his body and possessed Misha. Even his voice was different when he spoke again, and it creeped Sam right the fuck out.

“It’s possible that God isn’t as all-powerful as he’s made out to be,” Misha suggested. “It’s possible that there are limits to his ability to interfere with his creation. He helped where he could, putting you on that airplane before Lucifer rose, sending Castiel back to you again and again, and pointing you in the right direction when he was able to.”

“Great,” Sam replied with a snort. “I’ll be sure to thank him for all that if I ever see him again. I’ll ask him if we put on an entertaining show for him.”

“I don’t believe he’d see it that way,” Misha replied, his voice gone less gravelly now, and the intensity of his stare softened back into a gentle smile.

“Free will can be a real bitch like that,” Jensen replied. “If he’d stepped in and put a stop to everything, he’d have to put a limit on his own creation. It sucks sometimes, but it’s still better than the alternative.”

“Robots following orders, predestined everything, no freedom or choice.” Misha nodded slowly, giving Jensen a little half smile. “Do you know what one of Cas’s first missions on Earth was, after fetching your brother from Hell?”

Sam struggled to think back that far. It had been a long damn time ago. “I think he took Dean back to save our parents in the 1970’s.”

“Heh, he’s right,” Jensen said, pulling into a parking spot outside the grocery store. He shut off the car, and then ran his hand over the dashboard before turning back to smile at Sam. “You know your brother actually picked this car out? He talked your dad out of buying some dumbass hippie van.”

Sam nodded, unable to resist smiling at that. “No wonder Dean loves this car so much. It really has always been his.”

“Yeah,” Misha agreed, before turning the conversation back to his original point. “But that first Halloween after you met Cas, you were trying to stop a witch from raising Samhain. Cas brought Uriel along and told you their orders were to destroy the town to save a seal. Dean talked Cas out of killing a thousand innocent people in order to smite the witch, and Samhain rose, but the two of you banished him straight back to Hell.”

“I remember that,” Sam replied, unable to maintain eye contact with Misha as a chill ran through him at the thought of exorcising that demon with his mind. He hadn’t touched a drop of demon blood in years, and the memory of it still made him feel physically ill. “Much as I don’t want to sometimes, I remember it.”

“So you know that it was a test, right?” Jensen asked.

“Uriel told me to stop using my powers, or he’d stop me,” Sam replied, nodding. “Which was rich coming from the guy who was recruiting converts to Lucifer’s side and killing the angels who refused to join him.”

“No,” Misha corrected him. “It was a test to see what your brother would choose; to see if he’d let Cas destroy the town or not.”

“Testing his loyalty, or some shit like that?” Sam replied. “I guess he failed, then.”

“Not at all,” Misha replied. “It wasn’t a pass/fail sort of test. Cas’s orders were to follow _Dean’s_ orders, no matter what they were.”

Jensen gave a little laugh at that. “He’s still doing that, isn’t he.”

Misha sighed, and smiled a little bit. “For the most part, he kinda is.”

Sam again found himself mesmerized by one of their silent conversations, until Misha suddenly scooted all the way across the front seat, ending up practically in Jensen’s lap. Jensen laughed outright, and Misha planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek and began pushing at Jensen’s shoulder.

“Let’s go in and get what we need so we can finally see the bunker,” Misha said, leaning across Jensen to open the door. “Time’s a wasting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Jensen replied, rolling his eyes and putting on an obvious show of affront, before cupping Misha’s cheek with one hand and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

Sam got slowly out of the back seat, and wandered along behind the happy couple, as he was once again left to sort through a lifetime’s worth of new information.

Free will, loyalty, destiny, God… It had all built up around him since he was six months old. He felt like he’d never really been anything more than a player on God’s personal stage, except that he and his brother, and Castiel, Bobby, Jody, Ellen and Jo, Charlie, Kevin, and hell, even Meg and to an extent Crowley, had all helped each other tear up the script over and over again. They’d used their power to choose, and they chose to save the world with it. Nobody had forced them to stand up and fight against destiny. It had just been the right thing to do. The world was still spinning and billions of people were going about their normal lives because of the choices he and his friends and family had made.

So much of his life had been absolute shit, and the few times he’d managed to find a little peace for himself it had never lasted long. But now with Dean talking about taking a break from hunting and trying to have a little fun, maybe it was time to start looking for a little bit of peace again.

Sam sighed and collected a stray shopping basket as he stepped through the swooshing automatic doors and followed Jensen and Misha into the store. He tried to focus on the task at hand, because he was sure he could spend the rest of his life trying to untangle the mess of thoughts racing through his mind on the nature of God and free will, and why he and Dean always seemed to be at the center of one apocalypse or another. So much for keeping the conversation light.

In the end, while trying to decide whether to buy kale or spinach, it hit him all at once. It didn’t really matter that all this shit seemed to fall on him and Dean. It only mattered that they’d both been able to fight their way through it. The apocalypse was over and none of them were possessed, or dying, or being controlled against their will. For what was probably the first time in their lives, their futures could be built solely on their own choices.

He realized he’d sort of zoned out in the produce department when a girl behind him suddenly said, “Excuse me,” and proceeded to push past him where he was blocking access to the display of lettuce.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered, stepping aside so the petite brunette could reach what she needed.

“Tough choice, eh?” she said with a smirk, glancing down at the dark leafy greens in both of his hands. “They can both be bitter if you don’t season them properly, but that’s true of much in this life, right Sam?”

“Excuse me?” he said, wondering how she could’ve known his name. She didn’t look familiar, and couldn’t have been more than eighteen or so. Tiny, with long dark hair and captivating golden eyes. Mesmerizing, almost. He was also sure that neither Jensen nor Misha had used his name out loud since they’d left the car. “Do I know you?”

The girl’s smirk widened into a delighted grin, and she rested one hand on Sam’s forearm as she leaned in to quietly say, “I’m here to help lighten a little of your load, to show you that you can appreciate the joy and wonder again without the burden of all your regrets.”

Sam glanced down at her hand, and then back up at her face. He had no idea what the hell she was talking about, or how she seemed to know so much about him. “Is this some freaky psychic shit?”

The girl laughed, and it sounded strangely like it was overlaid with bells, but it was impossible not to smile even a little at the joyous sound. “Oh, Sam,” she said, shaking her head and patting his arm before dropping her hand again. “You’ll understand soon.”

“Understand what?” he asked, growing increasingly concerned that something unfortunately supernatural was about to go down. He glanced around quickly to be sure that Jensen and Misha hadn’t wandered too far away so he could protect them if need be. The girl followed his glance, and then drew Sam’s attention back to herself.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to them, Sam. Don’t worry, you are all under my protection for now. I just thought spending time with them might help make things easier for you when your brother and the fallen angel come home.”

And then Sam realized who he was talking to. “Rhiannon.”  
The girl simply nodded. “Good luck in your future, Sam. You deserve happiness. All three of you do.” She collected her lettuce, walked around a display stand, and disappeared.

Sam suddenly laughed out loud, startling Jensen and Misha from where they’d been choosing tomatoes and onions a few yards away. He just grinned at them, and put both the spinach and the kale back on the shelf and picked out a half dozen of the sweetest fruits he could find.  Free will at its finest.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam pulled up to the bunker just before five on Sunday evening. They’d spotted Charlie’s car parked up the road by the main entrance before Sam turned off onto the side road around to the well-hidden garage door. His sudden turn had thrown Misha and Jensen for a loop.

“Holy shit, I didn’t even know this road was here,” Jensen said, leaning forward to take in the imposing structure rising above the door.

“How do you guys get into the garage, then?” Sam asked, genuinely curious now.

Misha snorted. “It’s a film set, Sam. It’s not a real building.”

“We shoot all the exterior scenes up on an access road with a door built into a hillside, and the building on top is pasted in afterward by the effects department,” Jensen added, staring in wonder at the huge structure. “It’s bigger than I imagined it.”

Sam laughed, pulling out his phone and punching in a code to activate that automatic door opener that Charlie and Dean had schemed up together. “It looks bigger from down here than it does from the front entrance,” he confirmed. “But we’re two stories down from there. It beats lugging shit down two flights of stairs to the kitchen. Plus, Dean wouldn’t forgive me for leaving his Baby outside now that we have a garage for her.”

Once the doors had fully opened, Sam eased the car through the long tunnel into the garage. The automatic doors closed behind them, and suddenly they were inside the bunker, surrounded by gorgeous old cars and a tangible sense of safety. Sam had grown accustomed to it over the several years he’d been living there, but he remembered what it had felt like the first time he’d walked through the front door and began noticing all the sigils and protective symbols worked into practically every inch of the building. He had to smile to himself when he heard Jensen and Misha sigh in tandem, because he knew what they were feeling, even if none of them could put it into words.

Sam parked the car in her usual spot, and just as he switched off the engine, Charlie came bounding through the door. The other two men didn’t seem to notice her at first, even as they got out of the car. They were too busy looking around at the other cars, and at the moldings carved into elegant warding symbols that wrapped around the ceiling, just trying to absorb everything.

“What’s up, bitches?” Charlie said, as she practically ran over to give Sam a hug.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said, once he managed to peel her off of himself. “This is Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins. Guys, this is Charlie.”

“We sorta guessed that, yeah,” Jensen replied, holding out his hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you anyway, even though I feel like I already know you in a really fucked up and backward sort of way.”

“No kidding,” she replied, her eyes widening as she took them in. She gave Sam a quick disbelieving glance, before swatting Jensen’s hand away and latching on to him like they’d been best friends for years. “This is the creepiest and coolest thing that's happened around here in months. At _least_.”

Jensen hugged her back, just in time for her to pull away and turn toward Misha. Charlie was about to go in for a hug, when she stopped with her arms raised, and just stared into Misha’s face.

“Oh my god, those really are your eyes,” she said. “I thought it had to be a side effect of the angel juice or whatever, but your eyes really are that blue. That can’t possibly be real.”

A grin slowly bloomed over Misha’s face, as Jensen went into hysterics, doubled over laughing beside them. Charlie gave him a smack on the shoulder, and finally claimed her hug from Misha. Jensen was still laughing when she finally released him.

“That’s actually one of the first things I thought when I met him,” Jensen told her as he got himself under control again. “I thought they gave him contacts or something, to make him look more angelic.”

Misha ran his hands down his sides like a model showing off the latest fashion. “I’m all original factory equipment,” he said.

Charlie just shook her head and took a step back so she could see them both at once. She pointed to Jensen first. “You just need a shave and I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from Dean.”

Jensen smiled a little, and shrugged. “So far I can’t really tell you apart from Felicia at all,” he told her.

“Felicia’s good with computers,” Misha replied, squinting at Charlie a little bit. “But I’m sure you’ve got her beat to hell in that department. Otherwise, yeah, casting did a surreal job.”

“I don’t think casting had anything to do with it,” Jensen replied, sliding up next to Misha and bumping their shoulders together. “It’s magic, remember?”

Misha nodded, and wrapped his arm around Jensen. “That’s going to be our default explanation for this entire weekend, yeah.”

Sam just stood there smiling, watching Charlie watch Jensen and Misha together. Somehow he’d neglected to mention their relationship, but he realized it was much more fun to let her figure it out for herself. He noticed the moment everything clicked into place for her. Her mouth dropped open, and then she slammed it shut and turned slowly toward Sam. He stood there with his hands clasped behind his back and smiled benignly at her, just daring her to say something. Instead, she made a not-very-subtle jerking motion with her head as if she needed confirmation from Sam about what she was seeing.

Sam raised one eyebrow and said, “You can say it, Charlie. They’re not Dean and Cas.”

Jensen and Misha turned their heads in unison to look at one another, and then back at Charlie’s gobsmacked expression and Sam’s delighted smirk. Misha leaned his head sideways onto Jensen’s shoulder, pretending at subtlety and falling far short of the mark, and said out one side of his mouth, “Just how awkward do you think we should make this?”

An impish grin spread over Jensen’s face, and it was a look that Sam recognized all too well. It was Dean’s you’re-gonna-hate-this-but-I’m-gonna-love-it grin. Sam groaned, and tried to reason with them.

“Guys, please, don’t,” he said. “Whatever you’re about to do, could you maybe not? I don’t think I need to see it.”

“Oh, Sam,” Jensen said with an air of disappointment. “You’ve gotta know it’s kind of inevitable at this point, right? Just consider this a sort of desensitization therapy.”

“What,” Charlie said, glancing back and forth between all three of them. “What are they gonna do?”

Sam ignored Charlie, and stared down Jensen for a second before crossing his arms across his chest and relenting. It might’ve come out a bit more petulant that he was shooting for when he huffed out, “Fine. Do what you gotta do, just be quick about it.”

“What’s fine?” Charlie demanded again, but Sam just waved a hand at Jensen and Misha as he turned aside in a vain attempt to avoid whatever lewd display they had planned.

“That,” Sam replied.

Charlie turned just in time to see Jensen grab Misha by the waist and pull him close. What started out as a simple kiss quickly devolved into Jensen pushing Misha’s back against the Impala and pinning him in place with his body. Sam was torn between staring in disbelief and wanting to run screaming from the room in search of something pointy enough to poke his eyeballs out with.

“Oh, wow,” Charlie squeaked out before clearing her throat. She just stood and watched them making out like teenagers, unable to keep the blatant curiosity off her face. Without turning away, she said, “You were right, Sam. That’s definitely not Dean and Cas.”

Sam choked out a near-hysterical squawk, and called a halt to things when Misha’s hand dropped toward Jensen’s ass. “Okay, okay, we get it. Can we just get all the groceries into the kitchen before the ice cream melts now?”

Sam stomped around to the back of the Impala, opened the trunk, and grabbed the green cooler, now filled with all their frozen food. With his arms full of groceries, he hastily made his way toward the kitchen without looking back. He heard Jensen laughing again, and Charlie’s voice echoing throughout the garage and bouncing along the tiled hallways, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. By the time he had the cooler emptied and the freezer stocked up, the other three were busy unpacking the rest of the groceries.

“Pizza’s keeping warm in the oven,” Charlie said, stepping up beside Sam to load a jug of milk and an assortment of beer into the fridge. “If you guys need a minute to chill before we eat, it’s all good.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam replied, nodding toward Jensen and Misha where they were unloading the rest of the non-perishables onto the pantry shelves. “I don’t know about them, but I’m absolutely starving. We haven’t really stopped to eat since breakfast.”

Charlie was still watching Jensen and Misha curiously as they happily cracked jokes and laughed their way through their chore. “I guess that explains all the junk food, then. You guys shopped hungry. You know you’re not supposed to do that.”

Sam grinned. “It was just like going shopping with Dean and Cas on a full stomach.”

“I guess so,” Charlie said, and finally snapped out of her reverie. She rounded on Sam, and quickly whispered, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me they’re _married_. Didn’t you think that was kind of critical information?”

Sam shrugged, and reached above her head for a stack of plates. “I had to find out the hard way, too.”

Charlie made a noise of disgust and rolled her eyes, but let Sam by to fetch the beer and set the table. She followed him a second later after pulling the pizza from the oven, walking past Jensen and Misha and waving it under their noses to lure them to the table.

“I got one with all the veggies, one with all the meats, and one boring plain cheese,” she said, setting the stack of boxes down on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you guys would like. You can always smash one slice of each together like a sandwich if you like all the toppings at once, or you can have them one at a time.”

“I’ll start with a slice of whatever’s on top,” Misha said.

“Sure you will,” Jensen replied with a wink.

“We’ve already traumatized these good people enough for one day, Jen,” Misha said, as Charlie placed a slice with pepperoni, sausage, and bacon on his plate. He thanked her, and then, grinned up at Jensen. “Save some for tomorrow.”

“Can I at least make one meat joke first?” he asked, as he took a slice of the same pizza for himself.

Sam sighed, and reached for a beer. “As long as you’re wearing my brothers’ faces, you could at least _try_ to restrain yourselves. I’d really appreciate it.”

At that, Misha set his pizza down and swallowed, staring wide-eyed at Sam the entire time. “You think of Cas as your brother?”

Sam stared back at him with the same sort of have-you-suffered-brain-damage incredulous look they’d both given him the previous morning when they thought he was their actor friend Jared. “Well, yeah.”

Charlie nodded along, too, raising her hand the second she put her own slice of pizza down. “Same here. If they all get to keep teasing me about being the little sister, they all have to uphold the big brother contract. It’s in the rules.”

Misha nodded, looking down at his lap, and Jensen leaned over to throw an arm around his shoulders. “We told you that, dumbass. They’re not gonna kick him out. You know that, I know that.” He pointed at Charlie and Sam, and added, “And now we know that _they_ know it, too.”

Sam softened at that, and remembered that every time something awful happened to Cas, every time he’d disappeared from their lives, the same thing had happened to Misha. Sam immediately reassured him. “Don’t worry, man. Cas isn’t going anywhere anymore. At least, not without us.”

Charlie snorted at that, and demurely sipped her beer, mumbling under her breath, “Yeah, like you could tear him away from Dean nowadays.”

That seemed to cheer Misha a bit, and he dared a sly little look at her. “So you’re saying I’ve got job security now?”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Have you even been paying attention the last few months? You need a crowbar to keep them apart.”

“We actually don’t know what’s been going on,” Jensen replied. “The last scene we shot before summer hiatus was Sam hauling the three of you back to the bunker, unconscious, after Cas cured Dean of the Mark.”

“Oh,” she replied, sitting bolt upright in surprise. “Then you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

She quickly filled them in on the current state of affairs, and then the three of them filled her in on exactly what had happened in Wyoming.

“Rhiannon? The chick from the Fleetwood Mac song?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what Dean said,” Sam replied, grinning, before diving back into the story.

He covered everything, with a little help from Jensen and Misha about what exactly Dean and Cas were likely up to in Paris. Sam was relieved to learn that the convention-related activities were long finished, and the chances they’d get themselves into trouble by having to impersonate two actors among a huge crowd of their friends and fans had dropped to near zero. It made it easier for him to finally just sit back and enjoy himself. Charlie couldn’t contain a squeal of delight when she learned that Dean and Cas now had a full day to spend as tourists in Paris, because in her words, the whole idea of it was _dreamy_.

Sam smiled happily and let Charlie ramble on for a bit about what the convention must’ve been like, questioning Jensen and Misha about the venue, the fans, and the whole experience. After a few minutes, she noticed Sam’s bemused grin, and shrugged apologetically, but let him push on with his story. He relayed greetings to Charlie from Jody, and then finished up with their trip back to the bunker that afternoon.

“Wait,” Misha said, stopping Sam’s tale when he mentioned running into Rhiannon at the grocery store. “You had a chat with the goddess who caused this whole mess?”

Sam nodded. “She told me I deserved happiness, that all of us did.”

“And then, what?” Jensen asked. “She just popped by to check in and see how everything was going?”

Sam shrugged, unconcerned. “Yeah. She mentioned something about all of us being under her protection, and said she sent the two of you here to-” he stopped, trying to recall her exact words. “To make things easier for me when Dean and Cas come back. Something like that, anyway.”

“Oh my god,” Charlie said. “Maybe those two dopes finally got their heads out of their asses.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, worried that he knew _exactly_ what she was talking about.

Charlie rolled her eyes again, and gave Sam a pitying look. “You can’t tell me you’ve never noticed Dean and Cas making the goo-goo eyes at each other, staring at each other when they think nobody is watching. And ever since everyone ended up human again, it’s only gotten worse. They’re practically married, without all the fun side-benefits.”

Sam nodded slowly. Of course he’d noticed how much closer they’d been since Cas moved in with them. On a certain level, it was only logical that Dean had sort of taken Cas’s humanity as an excuse to spend practically every free moment together, whether it was training for hunts, teaching Cas all the practicalities from cooking to laundry, or just hanging around watching movies. But for years he’d suspected there was more to their relationship that he’d likely never understand.

The notion it might be something more than an extremely close friendship had occurred to him, years ago. There’s just, like, _a limit_ on how long you can drag out the UST before you either have to act on it or else let it fizzle out. Sam had long ago assumed the latter must’ve happened at some point, and that’s when he began strategically not paying attention to all of their quirky little habits, like the staring and the covert touching. As long as the two of them were content to just be friends, Sam was fine with whatever arrangement they’d worked out together.

Cas had called it a profound bond once. Dean had refused to talk about it for years, and nearly bit his head off when Sam teased him over what the girls in the Supernatural play had tried to explain to Dean about Dea-stiel, or dess-tiel, or whatever they’d called it. Sam had been primarily glad that at least some of the fans of Chuck’s books had moved on from writing porn about him and his brother together. At the time, he hadn’t really stopped to think about why Dean had been so tetchy about anyone imagining him in some sort of relationship with Cas. But that didn’t mean Sam hadn’t wondered about it since then.

“You think three days in Paris is just gonna magically make Dean willing to talk about his feelings?” he asked, skeptical. “Because I’ve been trying to get him to open up for years. Decades, even. It’s like beating your head against a brick wall and expecting the wall to crack.”

“Trust us,” Misha said. “It wouldn’t take much.”

“Plus, they had to spend the whole weekend convincingly pretending to be us in front of a thousand people who’ve been watching us together for years,” Jensen said, spreading his hands out in front of him like that explained everything. “Can’t do that without putting on the whole show.”

Under his breath, Misha added, “Unless Jared let them get away with playing sick and backing out of the convention.” He seemed cheered by his next thought, and continued in a much brighter tone. “But that still ends with them stuck in a hotel room together for two days with nothing else to do but talk to each other.”

Jensen grinned at Misha, and agreed. “Either way, they’re not coming back the same as they were when they left. I’d lay money on it if I had any way to collect on that bet.”

Charlie laughed. “Yeah, even I haven’t figured out a way to wire money to alternate realities. Sucks for you, though. I wouldn’t bet against you anyway.”

“You don’t think they’re getting the same kind of experience you’ve had?” Misha asked, realizing Sam still looked doubtful. “Between Jared and Gen, they’re probably learning as much about themselves as you have in the last two days.”

Sam just nodded, and furrowed his brow. He ran down the list of all the surprising revelations he’d been given about himself since meeting Misha and Jensen. All the things he’d learned about Dean and Cas, as well.

He’d spent the better part of eight years trying to decipher their weird mating dance, eventually deciding it was probably healthier to ignore it altogether because at that rate, neither of them were ever going to do anything more about it. Sometimes it almost hurt to watch them together, each seemingly oblivious to what Sam couldn’t help but see. Other times Sam thought they knew all too well how the other felt, and despite it all would somehow convince themselves they must be mistaken, or they didn't deserve it. They’d avoid each other for a few hours while they reconstructed their malfunctioning defense systems, but inevitably they’d seek each other out and start the whole cycle over again. He realized that Jensen and Misha had a point. Whether forced up on stage to be confronted by hundreds of adoring fans or locked away in a room together where they couldn’t run and hide when things got too intense-- one way or another, something was bound to snap.

It would take something as drastic as being forced to play a married couple in public to jar them out of their comfortably uncomfortable routine. It might take some time for Sam to get used to the idea that the status quo would likely be changing, but Rhiannon was right. Seeing Jensen and Misha together, once they’d all figured out who everyone really was, had been kind of nice, if a little weird. Just seeing two people who looked identical to Dean and Cas, but who radiated contentment and ease had been refreshing, when it wasn’t slightly unsettling.

Jensen’s comment that their little show in the garage had been a form of desensitization therapy was probably spot-on, all things considered. It wasn’t a particularly thrilling thought, that his future might be filled with that kind of spectacle, but if it made Dean and Cas happy? Then it was definitely worth a little suffering on his part. That didn’t make it any easier to come to grips with.

Sam realized at some point during his reverie that he’d subconsciously wrapped his arms around his middle, and pitched forward so that his forehead was resting on the edge of the table. He nearly choked when he noticed that the weird pained groaning noise was coming from him. Charlie had come around the table and sat next to him, and was gently rubbing his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay Sam,” she said. “You’ll survive. It’s not like they can keep up the gross stuff forever. It’ll pass, and you can go back to mostly not thinking about it anymore.”

Misha and Jensen both laughed at that, falling toward each other until they were practically hanging on to each other for dear life.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Jensen said. “They’ve both spent years thinking they could never have anything more from each other.”

Misha agreed. “I mean, just look at us. We’ve known each other as long as Dean and Cas have, but we figured out our feelings pretty quickly, in comparison. And we are _still_ like this now.”

“They’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for,” Jensen replied, trying to maintain his serious face despite the humor threatening to take him over again.

Sam sat up slowly and stared at them in horror. They’d stopped laughing, and tried to look at least a little sympathetic toward his plight. Charlie shot them a quick glare, and then patted his shoulder again.

“It’s okay, Sam,” she repeated. “It’s a big bunker. If we have to, we’ll cordon off a wing and ban them from being disgusting everywhere else. We could even name it something super embarrassing, like the Destiel love nest.”

Misha snorted at that, and Jensen just shook his head and smirked. Sam ignored them both. He turned a disbelieving frown on Charlie. “You know Dean’ll just take that as a challenge.”

She sighed and shook her head. “That’s probably true.”

Sam turned back to the table and stared forlornly at his half-eaten pizza. He really thought about everything Jensen and Misha had said. Thought about what it would mean for Dean to finally be honest with himself, to let himself have something good in his life. Dean would have to admit to himself that he believed he deserved it first.

Sam and Cas had both been keeping a wary eye on him since he lost the Mark, and it had only really been in the last few days that Sam had finally been convinced that Dean was well and truly past flinching at anything that would’ve triggered the Mark. Sam believed it had only been a couple of days since Dean had finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t about to relapse at any moment.

If it weren’t for Cas, Sam wouldn’t even have a brother to be grossed out by right now. He and Dean both owed Cas a debt they’d never be able to pay back in full. Several debts, actually.

It didn’t hurt that Cas was also probably his best friend in the whole world, and Sam couldn’t help but want to make his new human life as comfortable and satisfying as possible. Even if it would mean that a good portion of that satisfaction and comfort would come in the form of public displays of affection with his brother.

Sam was willing to put up with a lot if it meant both Dean and Cas got a little something more for themselves out of the deal. They might not think they deserved it, or whatever idiotic thing they’d convinced themselves of that had kept them apart all these years, but Sam didn’t know two people more deserving of a happy ending.

He sighed in resignation, but he could feel the little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Charlie had already gone back to her seat to continue her relentless pursuit of everything she could learn about what a Supernatural convention was like in their universe, and Sam let their friendly familiar voices wash over him as he finished his dinner.

He occasionally focused in on their conversation, and that cheered him even more. Charlie got to geek out over the actress who played her on tv, and Misha and Jensen got to geek out over how amazing Charlie really was all on her own. He especially perked up when the conversation turned to the actors who played the various other people in their lives, and then eventually to the man who played Sam himself.

Contrary to the first impression he got from Misha and Jensen the previous morning, it was clear they loved their friend dearly, despite the apparently gruesome levels their prank wars had attained. Sam listened quietly as they talked about their lives, and everything from details about how they film the show to what it’s like to get up on stage at a convention. Hearing about thousands of people around the world who found hope and courage and a sense of family together from watching a show about him… Sam didn’t really have words to express how that made him feel.

They told him how Jared, inspired by hundreds of fans’ stories about how Sam never gave up despite everything he’d been through giving _them_ the courage to keep fighting in their own lives, had even started a charity for mental health and suicide prevention. For once in his life, Sam thought that maybe, just maybe he could let go of the burden of the thousands of lives his actions had cost in his own universe. Here, his actions had cost lives, but _there_ , in a world without monsters or angels or demons, his actions _saved_ lives. It was a small comfort, but a very, very real one.

He and Charlie sat there rather awestruck as Jensen and Misha related some of the stories fans had shared with them over the years about how the show had saved their lives, or brought them together with new friends, or gave them an outlet for their creativity. Misha actually looked disappointed at one point when he went to grab his phone to share some of the amazing artwork the fans had created, only to realize his phone was stuck back in his own universe.

“If you ever do figure out inter-reality email, Charlie,” Misha said, forlornly shoving Cas’s phone back in his pocket, “Be sure to let me know, okay? I’ll send you guys everything I’ve got.”

Charlie just grinned and nodded, too overcome to speak.

Even though these two men were practically strangers, they already felt like family. Halfway through the meal, Sam realized that’s all that mattered in the end, and joined in the conversation feeling about ten tons lighter, and wondering if Jody would mind if he came to hide out at her house for a few days if Jensen and Misha’s predictions about Dean and Cas came true. Just because Sam was theoretically happy for them didn’t mean he wanted to see it. He could at least offer them a little privacy and space to work everything out together. As he ate, he also wondered if maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just go spend some time with Jody and the girls anyway-- or maybe drive up to Hibbing to hang out with Donna for a while-- just because it would make _him_ happy.

“Huh,” he said out loud, but didn’t realize it until Charlie replied, “What?”

He just shook his head and smiled, finishing off his beer and digging in to another slice of pizza.


	9. Chapter 9

After dinner, with all the leftovers stowed away and the kitchen tidied up to Dean’s usual standards, Sam and Charlie gave their guests the fifty cent tour of the bunker. Their first stop was the garage, to finish clearing out the Impala. After unloading all their duffels onto the garage floor, Sam set about reorganizing all the weapons in the hidden compartment under the trunk. Jensen watched for a moment, and then asked if he could do the honors. Sam took a step back and shrugged, and then watched Jensen set to work as intently as Dean would’ve, checking every weapon and tool and charm before carefully replacing them all in exactly the right spots. When he was finished, Jensen turned to Sam with a slightly abashed and expectantly hopeful look, until he saw Sam shake off the look of bewildered surprise from his own face.

“So I guess I did it right?” Jensen asked, rather smug now.

Sam nodded slowly, and then slammed the trunk shut. “You know, that’s almost as creepy as when the two of you drop into character.”

Jensen shrugged, and Misha laughed, before straightening up suddenly and completely _becoming_ Castiel for a minute. “You do realize that Jensen and I are the fictional characters in this universe.”

“Stop that,” Charlie said, staring between Misha and Sam. She pointed a trembling finger at Misha, and added, “That’s… that just shouldn’t be allowed, should it? I mean, how are we supposed to remember _that’s not Cas_ if he keeps doing that?”

“You get used to it after a while,” Sam replied, picking up his duffel and setting out toward the laundry room.

Jensen and Misha followed, and Charlie brought up the rear, keeping a close eye on the two of them in case they suddenly turned back into Cas and Dean.

“I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time checking out the rest of those cars,” Jensen said offhandedly as they sorted their dirty clothes and started the washer.

“We can take a few of them out tomorrow, if you want,” Sam said. “It’s been a week or two since most of them have been on the road.”

“We’ll see,” Misha replied, reeling Jensen in by his elbow. “Again, Jen, you can drive all the cars back home. Maybe we should spend some time exploring this entire building, since we’ve got six semi-permanent rooms in a studio soundstage, and the real thing seems to be at least ten times that size.”

Jensen shrugged, smiled at Misha, and leaned in to kiss his temple. “Whatever you say, babe. Maybe they’ve got a better dungeon that we do, huh?”

Misha rolled his eyes, and jostled Jensen playfully. “I’m sure they do. All their chains and handcuffs are the real deal here.”

Sam slammed the washing machine closed and pushed the button to start it, startling everyone else in the room. “Don’t say it, De… Jensen.” He caught himself a fraction of a second too late that time, and huffed out a laugh. “Wow, okay, yeah. I guess I’m already preparing my defenses for when everyone’s back in their proper realities. Sorry about that.”

“I don’t blame you one bit, Sam,” Charlie said. “It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but without the gross tentacle pod things.”

“Heh,” Sam said, giving an involuntary shudder at the thought. “Thank god for small favors. Okay, moving on.”

He snatched up his bag, and led the way  toward their bedrooms. He got halfway down the hall toward his own room when he began to think about just where Jensen and Misha were going to stay. It continued to bug him until he reached his door. He stopped with one hand on the knob, and turned back toward his guests.

“This is my room, so I’ll just be right out, I guess.” He shot a quick glance at Charlie, standing between Jensen and Misha. “I, uh, haven’t really figured out where to put you guys yet. We don’t really have a guest room or anything.”  
Charlie cut in at that point, with, “Yeah, because I claimed it on behalf of Moondoor.”

“We wouldn’t dare impeach the sovereignty of Moondoor,” Misha said solemnly.

“Dean and Cas are sleeping in our bed,” Jensen said. “It’s only fair if we sleep in theirs.”

Sam just about choked again, but stammered out, “They do have their own separate rooms here, you know.”

“Just put your stuff away, Sam,” Charlie replied. “We’ll show them both rooms and let them work it out for themselves, like big boys.”

Sam nodded absently, staring out into the distance where the hallway that led off to the other bedrooms curved out of sight. He pulled himself together after a moment and opened his door. He barely took two steps into his room, and tossed his bag the rest of the way to the bed. When he turned to step back into the hall, he was brought up short for a second, and then just laughed. He was face to face with Misha and Jensen hovering in his doorway and craning their necks to get a peek inside his room. Sam took a step back and opened his door all the way.

“It’s just a room, guys,” Sam said, inviting them inside. “You’re not missing out on anything.”

Jensen grunted, looking around at the bare walls and utilitarian furniture stacked with books and paperwork. “You really haven’t settled in yet,” he said. “I was hoping the set designer was wrong about that.”

Sam laughed, and it sounded forced and painful even to him. “I don’t exactly have a history of good luck with settling in.”

Jensen frowned at that. “You’ve lived here for, what, three years or so now? In case you hadn’t noticed, you _are_ settled in.”

Sam felt the familiar gnawing in his gut he always did when he thought about what a home should be. The closest thing to a home he had as a kid was the Impala, even though it took him years to stop feeling a little ashamed about that fact. He remembered the home he’d made with Jess, which they’d filled little by little with things they picked out together, where they’d mapped out their future together before it went up in flames.

After that he hadn’t let himself believe a normal life could even be possible for him again for a long time. Then came his year with Amelia, when he was too lost or too broken or too _done_ to ever really settle into properly. It had been nice for a while, finding a home with someone who understood his fears about settling down, about how there’s no guarantees that something’s not about to come along unsettle everything again. Even when they’d moved in together, he’d still felt adrift.

Of course his life would catch up to him again, the same way it always did. At least with Amelia he couldn’t take all the blame for letting that potential _home_ slip through his fingers, and in a way, that sort of helped. But Jensen had a point, too.

“I get it,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “Can’t really think of the bunker as just an office when I literally only leave here for work purposes.”

“What would help you to think of this as your home, Sam?” Misha asked, picking up the ivory-handled magnifying glass from his desk and holding it up in front of one eye. “What could we tell you to help you feel like this is a place where you’ll always belong, for however long you want or need to live here, surrounded by your family and safety and comfort?”

“I know you’re not attached to _things_ the same way Dean is,” Jensen added, grabbing the magnifying glass from Misha so he’d stop playing with it, moving it around in front of his face to make his eye look as ridiculously huge as possible. Misha grumped at the loss of his interesting toy, while Jensen returned it to the desk and said, “I know you’ve got some creature comforts I expected from Dean, like the big television and the Netflix subscription. But how about getting a decent bed, for starters? You can’t tell me you actually fit in that thing.”

Sam glared at his too-small bed. It was just another in a long series of too-small, usually horribly uncomfortable beds. “It’s not as lumpy as most motel beds I’ve slept in, and it doesn’t make weird noises or have broken springs that stab at me. It’s actually not so bad, really.”

“Not so bad?” Charlie squeaked from behind Jensen’s shoulder. “Dude, that’s setting the bar a little low. I could see settling for a week or two of ‘not so bad,’ but that was like the first thing Dean ran out and bought when you guys found this place, because for the first time ever, he didn’t have to settle for _not so bad_. He made me lie down on his beloved memory foam and didn’t let me get up until I agreed it was the best bed ever.”

“If you ever did decide to live somewhere else,” Jensen added, “You could always take it with you. You don’t have to bolt it to the floor, you know.”

“You deserve to be comfortable, Sam,” Misha added, and then turned to Charlie. “Do you think we could order a moose-sized bed online? Does this place even have a street address for deliveries?”

“Firm or soft?” she asked, pulling out her phone and studying the screen, as if Sam had already agreed to their pushy plan. Without giving him a chance to reply, she turned back to Misha. “You think a queen will be big enough? I’m not sure a king would fit in here.”

Misha shrugged, taking a peek at the screen in Charlie’s hand. “That looks about right,” he replied.

Charlie clicked a few more things, on the phone screen, and then looked up at Sam with a satisfied smile. “They’re delivering your new bed to the abandoned farmhouse down the road on Friday. I left a memo for them to call when they get there, and you and Dean can go out and meet them. You’re welcome.”

Sam stood there gaping at all of them, wondering how his life had come to this. He was an adult, dammit, and if he wanted to sleep in a crappy bed, he should be allowed to sleep in a crappy bed. “What just happened here?”

“Consider it a belated birthday present,” Charlie said. “Sorry I missed your birthday, by the way. We were all a little… distracted back in May.” She frowned a little, but then shook off the memories of that awful time and perked right back up, grinning broadly at Sam. “We can pick out some new flannel sheets and maybe a snuggly fuzzy blanket later. Now let’s go show our nice guests where they can put down the bags they’ve been lugging around that don’t even belong to them.”

“What?” Sam asked, taking one last look at his old mattress. He decided it couldn’t really hurt to sleep in a bed his feet wouldn’t dangle over the edge of. It wasn’t like he was tying himself down to it forever. It wouldn’t be any more permanent than his current bed, just a little more comfortable. And that’s when it hit him, and he blurted out, “I didn’t want to let myself get comfortable here. Or anywhere, for that matter. That’s when everything usually goes straight to hell. If I kept thinking of this place as something transitory, something _not home_ , I wouldn’t have to worry about losing it.”

Jensen nodded. “That’s what Jared said when I teased him about having a boring room compared to mine.” He winced at how harsh his own words sounded, and then corrected himself. “Or Dean’s, anyway.”

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to change anything about your space,” Misha said. “All it needs to do is make you happy. It’s your refuge from the rest of the world. You should also know that hanging a few posters or maybe putting down a nice throw rug won’t bind your soul to these four walls for all eternity. It might make whatever time you do end up spending here a little more comfortable, though. And comfort is never a bad thing. Especially in a place with bare brick walls and cold ugly flooring.”

Sam looked down at the industrial beige linoleum beneath his feet and laughed. Misha definitely had a point. “Carpet might help with the soundproofing a bit, too.”

“That’s the spirit!” Charie said, much happier now that Sam wasn’t protesting anymore.

Sam hesitantly smiled back at her, and waved a hand toward his open door. “Okay then. Now that I’ve been called out on my complete lack of interest in interior design, can we continue this discussion somewhere else?”

“Sure thing, man,” Jensen said, patting Sam’s shoulder and trying to suppress a smile as he stepped past him into the hall. “The fans will be thrilled to see your room look a little more lived in. They worry about you, you know.”

“Ooh,” Misha said, suddenly as they all followed Jensen out of Sam’s room. “I don’t know if it would be better as a prank or a GISHWHES item. Maybe both. But I kind of want fill the set with decorative pillows the first day we film in Sam’s room. Then again, Jared would probably enjoy that, so it might not work as a prank.”

Misha continued musing aloud as they followed Sam past Charlie’s room and around the bend in the corridor to Cas’s room. When they arrived, he opened the door and ushered Misha inside to drop off the bag he’d been carrying. As soon as Sam nudged him through the door, Misha’s words dried up in his mouth. He stood there, a little stunned for a moment just taking it all in, and then turned back to Sam. “I’ve never had a room before,” he said. “I mean me as Cas. Cas never had a room on our set before.”

Sam shrugged. “He never had a room here until a few months ago. He never really needed a room of his own before.” He let the _before he was human_ go unspoken.

Misha slowly set the bag down on the blue blanket draped over the foot of the bed, and walked around the room examining everything. The decorations were still pretty sparse, but Cas had only been there for a few months. There were a few framed photographs on the nightstand, of Dean and Sam, and one of the three of them together that Sam remembered Dean taking with his phone when they’d set out on their first hunt together after Dean and Cas had recovered.

On the ledge that ran the length of the room above his bed, Cas had assembled a collection of all sorts of random objects he’d picked up, everything from bird feathers and stones to matchbooks and little souvenir trinkets from some of the towns they’d been to in the last few months. Sam wondered what drove Cas to buy a shot glass in Milwaukee, or a thimble in Nashville, or a tiny snow globe when they passed through Kansas City. He was betting every item in Cas’s little collection had a story to go with it, too. A memory. And each of those items somehow made those memories more real for him.

It wasn’t as if Sam had spent much time in Cas’s room, and it was surprising to him to see how much he’d accumulated in just a few months when Sam hadn’t collected anything but lore books and case notes in the last three years he’d been living there. It was a weird little habit he’d always associated with Dean, which Sam had never really had any interest in before. Dean had always been the one to hang on to cereal box toys like a magpie, to attach sentimentality to green plastic army men and a handful of lego bricks-- a habit he carried into adulthood when a certain bloodstained trench coat joined the assortment of junk Dean dutifully transferred from one stolen car to the next. Sam had always thought it was Dean’s way of punishing himself; that he carried these things around with him out of a sense of guilt, or failed duty. Seeing Cas’s collection put all of that into a new light. A matchbook from the restaurant Dean had proclaimed to have the best cherry pie in Nebraska, a red feather from a cardinal that nested in a tree right outside their motel room in Oklahoma and dive-bombed them every time they walked too close to his territory. Those were the kinds of memories Cas was collecting. It wasn’t about his failures or clinging to a past he could never undo or forgive. It was about cherishing the little things that made life more enjoyable.

Right then and there, Sam decided that, no matter where he’d hoped he might end up someday, he was here now. For now, and for however long he decided he wanted to stay. There was nothing holding him there forever, but there was also nothing pulling him away against his will. Maybe it would be okay to actually own some stuff, and try to understand the thrill Dean got from _nesting_. If Castiel, who’d only been hanging around with humans for the last few years out of the billions he’d lived, if _he_ had managed to settle in enough to start collecting random mementos, then maybe there really was something to it.

Sam’s attention was drawn from the assortment of random objects when Misha suddenly shouted.

“Jen, look,” Misha said, quiet awe filling his voice as he pulled Cas’s trench coat off its hanger and reverently pulled it on. He smoothed his hands down the front of the coat, and froze the moment he caught Sam watching him. He moved to take it off, and said, “Is this… all right? You don’t think he’d mind, do you?”

Sam smiled and shook his head. “Nah, go for it. He hasn’t worn it since Dean made him buy a few other jackets. Plus, it’s been hot lately, and he actually feels the heat now, so it’s pretty much been hanging there since May.”

Jensen had been admiring Misha in the coat, but he’d also noticed some of the other clothes hanging up in Cas’s closet. “Mish, it looks like you’re finally gonna be getting some new wardrobe.”

“Thank fucking god,” Misha replied, slowly stripping off the coat and carefully hanging it back up. “The coat’s awesome and all, very Constantine badass chic, but damn it gets old wearing the same thing every day for seven years.”

Jensen continued pawing through Cas’s clothes, but stopped suddenly and pulled out a pink and blue plaid flannel. “Hey, this is mine!”

“You mean it’s Dean’s,” Misha corrected, grabbing the hanger from Jensen’s hand and returning it to the closet with Cas’s other clothes.

“Well, it _was_ Dean’s until I pinched it from the wardrobe trailer last spring. Now it’s actually mine.”

“And you know how often I steal it out of your closet, right?” Misha replied, smacking Jensen on the ass as he headed toward the door. “I guess Cas and I have more than one thing in common.”

Jensen laughed and followed Misha out into the hall, leaving Charlie and Sam standing bemused in Cas’s room. A moment later they heard Jensen shout, “Hey, this is my room!” followed by the sound of the door across the hall opening. “Is it weird that I suddenly have the urge to yell, ‘This must be fake mine!’”

Misha snorted, and replied, “Don’t be an asshole, Jen. And before you say it, yes, I know he said it first. But now you know better, right?”

“Heh, yeah,” Jensen replied. “I’m only sorry he’s not here, too. There’s a lot of shit I want to say to the guy.”

At that point their voices trailed off as they stepped inside Dean’s room and continued talking too low for Sam to make out their words.

Charlie pivoted on her heel, effectively blocking Sam’s egress with a hand to his chest. “So, they’re pretty adorable together, right?” she said, in a quiet tone that brooked no argument.

Sam stood there like a moose caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He’d just started feeling comfortable about Jensen and Misha’s relationship, mostly by trying _not_ to think about it. He knew what Charlie was trying to imply, that Dean and Cas might start being equally _ugh, adorable_ if they really do manage to figure themselves out. Sam blinked at her a few times, and then sighed, deflating under the pressure of her pointed stare.

“Fine, yeah, all right? I agree. Can we get going now?”

He tried to step around Charlie, but she took one quick sliding step to the side and blocked his way again. When he looked down at her, hoping he didn’t appear _too_ irritated with her, her insistence had melted away into compassion and she smiled back at him.

“It’s all gonna be okay, Sam,” she promised. “We’re all still family, no matter what. We don’t care if you want to go out and become a real boy and make a different life for yourself someday, but for now this is your home. This is where your family is, and we love you, you dope.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just not what I pictured, you know?”

“Yeah, but until you decide you want to find another home, just think of the bunker as your Hogwarts. This is where all the cool magic is, anyway.”

“Heh,” he laughed. “Does that make me Harry?”

“Just as long as you don’t look at the adorable redhead in the room and mistake her for your Ginny, I’m okay with that.”

Sam bent down and scooped Charlie up into a tight hug and nearly picking her straight up off the ground. “No, I know you’re Hermione. Muggleborn, but the brightest witch of your age.”

She pulled out of the hug enough to punch Sam on the shoulder, and he let her go to rub at the sore spot on his arm.

“What was that for?”

“For letting me join your little club here, even though I’m not a legacy,” she replied, grinning and holding out a hand for him to take. When he grabbed hold, she tugged him toward the hallway to track down Jensen and Misha. She waited until Sam had stepped up beside her, and stopped in the doorway, speaking quietly. “It’s nice to feel like I always have somewhere to call home, too, you know. Even if I don’t live here 24/7. No matter where I am, I know you guys are here for me if I need you, and that’s more of a home, and more of a family than I’ve had since I was a kid. So, thanks.”

She looked up at Sam through her eyelashes, and gave him the best smile she could manage, but her charade of levity couldn’t mask the sincerity in her eyes. All Sam could do was nod back once, let go of her hand, and pull her against his side as they set off across the hall to Dean’s room.

“Any time, Charlie. That’s what family does.”


	10. Chapter 10

After a few minutes of watching Jensen and Misha go through practically everything in Dean’s room, from his weapons collection to his wardrobe, Sam left them to continue their excavation with Charlie while he ran off to check on their laundry. As he sorted the rest of their clothes, he found the statue of Rhiannon wrapped carefully in soft blue plaid. Sam wasn’t sure if it would disappear like it had from Buddy’s office in Laramie, but it still seemed a little disrespectful to leave it sitting on top of the washing machine for however long the goddess decided to stick around. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so he made a quick run out to the library to set her on a high shelf atop a selection of books on various deities. He took a few steps back to admire the little statue, and then hurried back to the laundry room before anyone else noticed where he’d left the token of the goddess who’d gotten them into this mess.

He stood between the washer and dryer shuttling soggy clothes from one machine to the other while wondering what Dean would say if he could’ve seen Jen losing his shit about holding the actual weapon he brought back from Purgatory. The man had held it reverently, inspecting every inch of it from the bloodstained bone handle to the jagged stone blade.

Sam had noticed both Jensen and Misha occasionally supporting each other through a moment of quiet awe, but every once in a while, their reactions to finding a few specific items seemed positively outrageous to Sam, and Dean’s Purgatory knife had just been one among many. It took him a while to figure out what exactly had set them off, because it hadn’t just happened with the weapons.

Misha had teased Jen over Dean’s record collection, and stood by his side as they looked through the few old family photos Dean kept on his desk. They studied each picture as if they contained far more than a thousand words, and they needed to commit every last one of them to memory. The gravity of Jen’s inspection had started to feel a little suffocating, and Sam was relieved when they moved on to Dean’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Sam noticed he’d picked up Misha’s nickname for Jensen, and had started referring to the man as “Jen,” even in his own head. He also noticed that since he’d adopted the nickname, he hadn’t once mistaken Jen for Dean. Maybe it was just the amount of time they’d spent together over the last two days, or the fact that the two strangers had helped relieve him of some seriously heavy burdens, but whatever the cause, he now saw them entirely for themselves. Unless they deliberately slipped into character, Sam was certain he wouldn’t forget that he wasn’t talking with Dean and Cas again.

He’d just needed to get out of the room for a few minutes while Jen and Misha pored through Dean’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to get out of the car to take a breather during some of their heavier discussions the day before, no matter how much he might’ve wanted to. Their exploration of Dean’s room seemed to carry almost as much weight for the two of them, as they accustomed themselves to the fact that everything their characters had been through-- including Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and everything in between-- was absolutely and indisputably _real_. It had always retained some level of unreality to them, Misha had tried to explain. It was one thing to play a fictional character that was billions of years old, but knowing that Castiel was _real_ … Misha didn’t even have words to convey how sobering that realization was.

There’d always been some measure of distance, a distinct quality of fiction to their characters. Standing in Dean’s room had stripped away the last of the illusion, for Jen especially, and it was difficult for Sam to watch. Not even a moment of unbridled wonder had eased Sam’s mind, so he’d excused himself to take care of something mindless and practical to give himself a few minutes to recover.

He’d left them all laughing as Jensen flipped out over the fedora Dean had worn when he’d hitched a ride with Chronos from his time with Eliot Ness in the ‘40’s, and the coat he’d been wearing during a shootout with a phoenix in 1861. When he’d left Dean’s room, all three of them were digging through Dean’s stuff while Jen related what he knew about each new thing they pulled out of his closet.

It occurred to Sam that Jen and Misha both had spent the most time examining the things that he now realized Dean treasured the most. His brother’s emotional attachment to these few possessions was powerful enough to echo across to another universe, where they’d become symbolic of Dean’s character as a whole. Sam was beginning to realize that he didn’t really have anything like that of his own.

Dean had told him once, years ago, that the only thing he was leaving behind in this world was his car. Sam knew that wasn’t true back then, and it certainly wasn’t true of Dean anymore. Standing there in the laundry room, accompanied by the buzz and rattle of the dryer, Sam wondered exactly what _he_ was leaving behind in this world. He didn’t even own his own car. Thanks to Charlie, at least he’d own a decent bed. Maybe it would remember him.

Sam came back from his little daydream and felt himself frowning. He shook off the melancholy gut punch to worry about another day. He had time yet. The world wasn’t ending; at least not any quicker than it had been yesterday. There was still time for him to find his place and figure out what really made him happy. He thought he should maybe look into adopting a dog. It would be a good start, anyway.

He wasn’t quite ready to face the anthropology dig still going strong in Dean’s room, so he spent twice as long as usual shaking out their damp clothes and transferring them to the dryer. It’s probably the only reason he caught Cas’s hand-knitted socks and pulled them out before the dryer could shrink and ruin them. He’d found them at a craft fair and farmer’s market a few weeks back during some hunt or other. Cas couldn’t resist the soft wool and the ridiculous black and yellow stripes. Dean had rolled his eyes, but dutifully shelled out the cash so Cas could have them.

It sort of hit Sam in a weird way that, despite Cas’s growing collection of possessions, Misha had really only been familiar with his old coat. He’d barely spared more than a passing glance at Cas’s other odds and ends. Everything that Cas owned, other than his trench coat, had been picked up over the last few months. Since they’d been on filming hiatus for most of that time, none of those new things had any meaning yet for Misha. But they would.

Sam threw the last of their clothes into the dryer, followed by one of the floral scented dryer sheets that Cas had become enamored with and insisted they buy a few weeks ago. They hardly ever bothered with anything as fancy or indulgent as fabric softener at the thousands of laundromats they’d patronized over the years. He’d forgotten how nice it made all his clothes feel, and even Dean stopped trying to complain about smelling all girly a few days after their first post-fabric-softener laundry day.

For all of Dean’s long-repressed domesticity bubbling to the surface in odd ways, all his eagerness to make the bunker into a proper home, Sam had never found it more hilarious than the day he caught Dean standing by the dryer in just a t-shirt and boxers, running his dead guy robe through the fluff cycle with a sheet of Snuggle. He’d asked Dean if it meant the Snuggle bear was officially off their hit list, and Dean had hastily sputtered out something about the chill in the bunker, and just wanting something warm to wear. Sam had grinned at his brother and suggested he could try putting on some pants, and left Dean fumbling for any sort of a comeback.

Sam got it, though. Jess had done the same for him on cold mornings, warming up his socks, or fluffing up the blanket they shared on movie nights. In some ways, Sam knew more about nesting than Dean did, as much as he tried to repress it most of the time, and he owed most of that to Jess. It struck him, not for the first time, how much she’d had in common with this domesticated version of his brother.

Once he’d started the dryer, Sam headed back toward Dean’s room. He’d given himself a little pep talk along the way and was ready to deal with whatever they were currently obsessing over, so he was a little surprised to find the room empty, the lights turned out and the door pulled shut. Before he had a chance to wonder where everyone had gone, Charlie rounded the corner from the hallway that led off toward the bathrooms.

“Well,” she said cheerfully, grabbing hold of Sam’s elbow and guiding him back toward the war room. “We know they’re housebroken. I gave them each a spare toothbrush, a clean towel, and a set of jammies, and left them in the shower room. So now I’d like to get as far as humanly possible from the shower room.”

Sam wrinkled up his nose, slightly horrified, but more than a little grateful to Charlie for the heads up. And about equally grateful he didn’t decide to take a detour to the bathroom before he ran into Charlie. After a stop in the kitchen to make some popcorn and a cup of tea, Sam and Charlie settled around one of the library tables to get some work done while they waited for their guests.

Charlie had been slowly helping them build a database to properly catalogue everything in the Men of Letters archives. She’d also started keeping in touch with a handful of other hunters who mostly worked alone. Sam had encouraged them all to check in with each other once in a while, and to share information with each other then they needed help. Charlie was slowly but surely becoming the next generation version of Bobby, doing digitally what Bobby had done with half a dozen phone lines and a house full of dusty old books.

Sam had promised Dean and Cas a vacation so, much as it pained him, he didn’t open his laptop and begin a search for freaky news articles. Instead he went to the nearest shelf and pulled out the first book that looked even remotely interesting. Charlie jumped when he plonked the heavy tome down on the table and pulled out the chair next to hers.

When she was done glaring at him, she shifted the bowl of popcorn so Sam could reach it too, and eyed the two-inch-thick ancient book. “A little light reading, there?”

Sam just grinned at her, immune to her teasing knowing she’d at least skimmed through every book on their shelves herself, and opened it up to the first page.

“And I thought I was supposed to be Hermione,” she grumbled, and turned back to her work.

Half an hour later, they were finally pulled out of their silent occupations by a loud shout that seemed to come from a hallway on the opposite side of the bunker from where they’d left Jensen and Misha.

“You think they got lost?” Sam asked, without any real urgency in his tone, at the same time Charlie sighed and said, “They’re probably lost.”

They grinned at each other, and then slowly got up to track down their wayward house guests. They found them a few minutes later standing just inside the doorway to the dungeon, the both of them still a little damp from the shower.

“Do we need to draw you guys a map?” Charlie asked, as she stepped up between them.

Jensen grunted, gave a little half shrug, and nodded. “It’s more practical than leaving breadcrumb trails everywhere. This place is a fucking rabbit warren.”

“We thought we’d figured out where we were going when we passed the garage, and set off toward the kitchen,” Misha said. “But somehow we ended up here. This is definitely not the kitchen.”

“I’m just glad neither of us walks in our sleep,” Jensen added. “You could end up lost for days down here.”

“It’s not really that bad,” Charlie scolded. “I’ll show you all the shortcuts, if you’d like.”

“While we’re here, though,” Jensen said, glancing at Sam for permission as he took a step through the storage room toward the dungeon, pointing at the chains. “Do you mind?”

Sam shrugged. “Go for it.”

He ended up giving the weirdest guided tour he’d ever heard in his life, recounting the months they’d kept Crowley stashed within the devil’s trap painted on the floor, the various uses they’d found for the spell-enhanced manacles and chains, and all the other equipment they kept stashed in there, since the room had also served a lot of the same functions as Bobby’s old panic room had, including housing a detoxing demon.

“Did the Leviathans really burn Bobby’s house to the ground?” Jensen asked, at the mention of their old friend.

“The panic room’s still there,” Sam replied. “The house is mostly gone, though. Jody helped us transfer legal ownership of the property into her name until we figure out what to do with everything that’s still on the property, since Dean and I are still legally dead. There’s stuff buried all over the junkyard we don’t want anyone digging up by accident, not to mention sorting through everything that didn’t burn. We couldn’t let it fall into anyone else’s hands.”

“Yeah, I guess that could’ve been awkward,” Misha said.

“And deadly,” Jensen agreed.

“We drive up there every once in a while when Dean needs a part for one of the cars,” Sam said. “He’s got most of what he needs here as far as tools and stuff, but sometimes he makes an excuse about needing something that only Bobby had just to drive up there for a day or two.”

They all stood there quietly taking in the rest of the room for a few minutes, thinking more about Bobby than anything, before silently taking their leave and closing up the dungeon behind them. The door clicking shut seemed to snap the tension that had built up between them.

“Shortcut time, then!” Charlie said, clapping her hands to Jensen and Misha’s shoulders, and then setting off at a rabbit’s pace down the hall. She called back over her shoulder for the men to get a move on, and they hurried to catch up with her as she turned the corner.

“Bathrooms are right down there,” she pointed, as she turned in the opposite direction. “Kitchen is dead ahead.”

Misha nearly ran into her when she suddenly stopped, and he noticed they were once again standing between Dean and Cas’s rooms.

“I thought you might want to drop off your clothes,” Charlie said, pointing to the bundles of dirty clothes and damp towels each of them had been carrying, and then raising one hand toward each of the two doors. “You have your choice of laundry hampers at your disposal.”

Neither man moved at first, but then Jensen asked, “Just out of curiosity, where are we going to sleep tonight?”

Sam shifted, shuffling his feet before forcing himself to stand up straight and face this head-on. He’d been trying to figure out which course of action would piss Dean off the least, before finally giving up and deciding to leave the choice up to Jensen and Misha.

“The only two rooms fit for human habitation are Dean’s and Cas’s,” Sam said. “You’ve got your pick. I’ll leave the choice up to you guys.”  
Jensen snorted, and traded a long and considering look with Misha. Sam actually chose to forego trying to decipher another of their silent conversations in favor of watching Charlie’s reactions. He was glad he did, because otherwise he’d have likely missed her mumbling out, “It’s uncanny, isn’t it.”

Jensen turned back to Sam after a few moments, and informed him that they’d spend the night in Dean’s room. It was getting late, so after confirming that Jen and Misha would be able to find their way to the bathrooms, kitchen, and library, should the need arise during the night, Sam and Charlie left the two to their fate and headed off to get ready for bed themselves.

It had been an exhausting day, and Sam was actually looking forward to a long, hot shower. He’d always rolled his eyes at Dean’s praise of the excellent water pressure, but really it was yet one more compelling reason that claiming the bunker as their home base had its advantages. After days on the road and the iffy plumbing they often dealt with at the crappy motel of the week, the bunker’s practically unlimited supply of hot water combined with the fancy massaging shower nozzle Dean had installed rendered the shower room practically heaven on earth. Not that he’d ever give Dean the satisfaction of admitting it. But it was still the truth.

That night, he let the hot water wash away his doubts and pound a renewed notion of what home could mean into his skin. As he lay down in his bed, wriggling around until he could stretch out diagonally across the slightly too firm surface so his feet wouldn’t dangle off the end, he found himself eagerly anticipating Friday’s new mattress delivery. He fell asleep to a bizarre series thoughts about new flannel sheets and fabric softener bears.


	11. Chapter 11

Monday morning, Sam was yet again unsurprised to discover he was the first one up and about in the bunker. He’d lain in bed awake for ten minutes or so before resigning himself to the fact that it was, in all fairness, his turn to get the coffee started again anyway. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face and stretching out his stiff back, then dragging himself to his feet to get dressed. When his back finally popped while he was tugging on his shoes, he glared over at his bed. Four more nights until he could drag the lumpy old mattress out back and burn it. His own vicious delight at the thought startled him, but one quick thought about sleeping on a brand new bed for probably the first time in his entire life helped him get over his surprise.

Before shuffling off to the kitchen to start breakfast, he’d heard Charlie rattling around in her room, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he had some company, at least. He wasn’t about to try and check on Jen and Misha. Sam would just as soon wait for them to present themselves fully dressed in the kitchen rather than risk accidentally discovering they were awake already and just… preoccupied with whatever they might be doing in Dean’s bed. Yeah, it was definitely best not to think about that.

“Your timing is excellent, your highness,” Sam said, pouring Charlie a cup of coffee as she wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“That’s ‘your majesty’ to you, good sir knight,” she said, eyeing Sam critically. “You want to retain the favor of the queen, you don’t give her the wrong title.”

Sam held up his hands in contrite surrender as Charlie sipped her coffee, and sighed.

“I’ll let it slide this time, but only because you make a decent cup of joe.”

Sam gave her a little bow before pouring himself a cup. He stood there idly wondering if he should be making something fancy for breakfast since they did technically have house guests, but then dismissed the notion in favor of bringing several boxes of cereal, a carton of milk, and an assortment of fruit over to the table. He was a couple of slices of toast and a muffin shy of the complimentary spread the motel in Laramie had set out, so it was probably good enough for a secret underground lair.

He dropped a few strawberries into his bowl of Cheerios, as Charlie sliced a banana into her corn flakes. The only noise in the room was the sputtering gurgle of the coffee maker finishing its brew cycle and the quiet crackle of their cereal. It suddenly struck Sam how incredibly domestic it all felt. He felt safe there. Comfortable, even. Sitting across the table from his friend, a woman who’d become like a sister to him, who knew almost as much about him as the two actors who’d been unwillingly sucked into their world.

It occurred to him that Charlie had read all of Chuck’s books, and over the last few years he and Dean, and now Cas, had filled in some of the gaps the Supernatural books hadn’t covered. She knew most of the awful details of his entire life, and yet here she was, sitting across the table like he was just any normal person. She’d never pitied him, or feared him, or made him feel ashamed. She messed with him, sure, just like any sister would mess with her brother. But that’s exactly how it felt; like it was done with love.

Sam hadn’t realized he was staring until Charlie glanced up at him, and then down at herself, examining the front of her shirt, and then looking back at Sam again.

“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Sam shook his head, then lowered his eyes to his food. “Just your face,” he replied. “I was thinking about what you said last night. How you think of this as a home. As family.”

Charlie sat quietly for a moment, giving him room to work out whatever he was trying to say.

“I just wanted you to know I’m glad,” he finally said. “I’m glad you’re part of our family.”

When Sam glanced back up at her, Charlie looked like she was on the verge of tears, and for just a second he regretted saying anything. But then she stood up, leaned across the table, and punched him on the arm.

“My cereal’s gonna be mushier than you by the time I actually get to eat it now, you jerk,” she finally said, slumping back into her seat, grinning from ear to ear despite the tears welling up in her eyes.

“That’s my line, you know,” he replied.

“Yeah,” she said, trying and failing to glare in a menacing fashion. “As long as you don’t default to Dean’s line, we won’t have a problem.”

“Absolutely not, your majesty.”

“All right, then,” she said, finally digging in to her cereal.

They both ate quickly and then cleaned up, leaving the cereal boxes on the table but returning the milk to the fridge. Misha and Jen hadn’t made an appearance yet, but there was a half a pot of coffee ready and waiting for them whenever the finally decided to show their faces.

By silent agreement, Sam and Charlie made their way back to the library together. As he sat down by his laptop, Sam had to once again remind himself that he wasn’t looking for a new hunt. He scrolled through his email making sure there wasn’t anything urgent he needed to handle, and then idly went in search of the morning’s news. Not freaky news, but the regular sort of news that everyone else usually paid attention to.

He filed one story away for further research, to be looked into more thoroughly when he wasn’t supposed to be taking a vacation from hunting. Even if he wasn’t actively looking for a hunt, that didn’t mean he’d let himself drop the ball if he knew there might be people in danger. If he had to call another hunter and pass a lead off to them, so be it, but he couldn’t just _not_ notice when something pinged his hunter’s instincts. After ten minutes of worrying over whether or not he should keep looking into the case, even though it would technically be a breach of the promise he’d made to Dean, he’d finally come to terms with the fact that he _wanted_ to notice the potential cases. He wanted to help where he could. It’s not like Dean automatically had to abandon his vacation to help. Not yet, anyway.

After a short internal debate, Sam decided he’d keep researching potential hunts, vacation or not, because he felt irresponsible ignoring the weird shit entirely. They didn’t have to go investigate every case themselves, but he realized he didn’t like not having any idea of what was going on in the supernatural world.

He’d just found what might potentially be a case out in Kentucky and pulled a notepad and pen across the table to jot down a few details, when Charlie glanced over at his laptop.

“I thought you guys were taking a break from hunting,” she said. “You know, by _not_ hunting? That’s how vacations are supposed to work.”

Sam snorted, finishing his list of notes before answering. “What do you think the weather guy on tv does during his vacation?”

“Huh?” she replied, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Is that some new career goal?”

“What?” Sam replied, finally dropping his pen and sitting back to focus on Charlie. “No, of course not. It’s just, hunters are sort of the weathermen of the weird. We look for patterns, and usually we’re the only ones who can read them and predict what’s going to happen.”

Charlie thought about that for a second, and then nodded. “Sure, okay. I can see that.”

“When the weather guy on tv takes a vacation,” Sam went on, “I’m sure he spends five minutes every day checking the weather forecast, even though he’s supposed to be out having fun and doing something other than keeping tabs on storm fronts and tornado warnings.”

“So you’re just making sure we’re not sitting here drinking mai tais on the beach while a crazy, I don’t know, zombie hurricane is sitting just offshore,” she said. “That makes sense, actually.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out real slow as he sank back in his chair. He hadn’t realized how stiffly he’d been holding himself, waiting for Charlie to tell him off for breaking his word. “Thanks,” he finally said. “You know, for understanding.”

“I’m just enjoying the image of you standing in front of a greenscreen weather map in a bad suit, with ghost fronts and the weekend vampire forecast projected up behind you.” She giggled, and then adopted a serious tone as she waved her arms around the imaginary screen. “On Friday, there’ll only be a thirty percent chance of gravedigging.”

“Shut up,” Sam replied, trying his best not to laugh. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, you dork.”

Just then, Jen and Misha wandered into the library from the kitchen, full mugs of coffee in hand. Charlie noticed them first, and pushed out the chair opposite her with her foot in a silent invitation to join them.

“Hey, guys,” she said, as they took their seats. “Did you sleep okay? Get lost during the night? Did you get something to eat?”

Misha laughed, and replied, “Yes, no, and yes. Thank you, Charlie.”

“We figured it was safest not to go exploring on our own again,” Jensen added.

Sam nodded, and then asked, “So what would you guys like to do today?”

The two men exchanged a glance and Misha shrugged, grabbing up the hand Jensen wasn’t using to sip his coffee. “What would you recommend? I’d guess we’ve probably got until at least midnight before we turn back into pumpkins, so we’ve got most of the day to kill.”

“I thought we’d leave it up to you,” Sam replied. “If there’s anything you want to see, or do, since you said your version of this place is just a few sets and props and stuff. I thought you might be curious to explore the real thing.”

“Jen’s already spent an hour this morning fondling every weapon in Dean’s room again,” Misha said, as Jensen tried to smack at his knee with their entwined hands.

“Hey babe, don’t make fun.”

“I’m not,” Misha said, smiling fondly at him. “It was adorable.”

Jensen gave a little shrug, raising his eyebrows in a helpless gesture, and then smirking into his coffee. He didn’t even try to argue with Misha’s assessment, and that made Sam laugh. He tried to imagine how differently their entire exchange would’ve played out between Dean and Cas, and he laughed even harder.

“See, even Sam thinks it’s adorable,” Jensen added, calmly pointing at Sam with his mug.

Sam figured it was probably best to let it go, and not bother trying to explain what he’d found so funny.

“Seriously, though,” Sam said. “Whatever you want. The full tour, hunting 101, it’s up to you.”

Jensen leaned forward, setting his mug down and resting his elbow on the table. “Hunting 101? You want to take _us_ out on a hunt?”

“No, no,” Sam said. They might have a goddess looking after them for a few days, but it would be stupid to push their luck that far, deliberately seeking out danger. “I had something slightly less… interactive in mind.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, pushing his fingers through his hair while he fleshed out his idea. “In your world there’s no magic and no monsters. When you do a google search for freaky news, you won’t find demonic omens and pagan goddesses messing with reality. At least, not usually.” Sam frowned, remembering the only reason they were all sitting there right that minute was because a pagan goddess messed with _both_ of their realities.

Misha and Jensen exchanged a dubious look, then turned at once to stare incredulously at Sam. Neither of them had to say a word. Charlie’s choked laugh said enough for all of them. Sam shook it off and kept going.

“Here.” He cleared his browser history so he wouldn’t be giving them an unfair advantage, then turned his laptop around and pushed it in front of Jensen. “Give it a try. Show me your hunting skills. I found a potential lead this morning. See if you can find it. I’ll even give you a hint. It’s a longer drive than we had to get to Laramie.”

Misha was actually the one who lit up at the suggestion, and he scooted his chair closer to the keyboard before Jensen had a chance to type a single word. “May I?” Misha asked, fingers hovering over the keys.

Jensen sat back and let him give it a try, smiling up at Sam and Charlie while his husband clicked away at the keyboard. “He loves a good scavenger hunt.”

“This is probably a little different than what he’s used to,” Charlie replied.

Jensen shrugged, peering over at the screen as Misha worked. “You’d be surprised.”

Less than five minutes later, and after a few short mumbled consultations with Jensen, Misha turned the computer around so Sam and Charlie could see his results. As Sam read the page Misha had pulled up, he grabbed up his notebook and added a few new facts to his list. It was starting to look like there could be a witch in the area that might need to be dealt with sooner than later.

“How’d we do?” Jensen asked, as Misha elbowed him in the side.

“You mean how did _I_ do.”

“Hey, I helped,” Jensen insisted.

Misha leaned in to bump his shoulder against Jensen’s. “Yeah, you did.”

“Not only did you find the case I was looking into,” Sam replied, finishing up his notes. “You found some stuff I hadn’t yet.”

“Score one for the fake hunters,” Jensen said, holding up a hand for Charlie to high five him across the table.

She shook her head and laughed. “You guys aren’t fake hunters. You just hunt fake monsters.”

“That makes us sound rather pathetic,” Misha replied. “Delusional, even.”

Charlie disagreed. “I watched you guys yesterday going through Dean’s stuff. You can handle any weapon he’s got. You know their history, and you know which one would be best for any given hunt. I actually learned stuff from listening to you both. If I get to call myself a hunter, then you guys definitely can.”

“I’d have to agree with Charlie,” Sam added, much to Misha and Jen’s surprise. “I think you both could probably handle yourselves pretty well.”

“Damn straight,” Jensen replied smacking one hand down on the table, at the same moment Misha said, “I’d rather not test that theory, at any rate.”

Jensen squeezed his hand, and grinned at his husband. “Don’t worry, babe, we’re staying right here, safe and sound.” Jensen then turned to Sam and confirmed, “We are safe and sound here, right?”

Charlie answered, “As long as you don’t go all Indiana Jones in the storage rooms, you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I think we can resist the urge to raid the Ark,” Jensen said.

“Good,” Charlie said. “Lucky for you we don’t actually have an Ark.”

“Well…” Sam began, but then bit his lip.

“Wait, you mean to tell me the Ark of the Covenant is here?” Charlie asked, sitting up straighter and whirling around on Sam. “In this building?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t think so, but we do have the Spear of Destiny.”

Charlie made a little choking noise. “You… don’t _think_ you have a shiny box that melts faces off? Meaning it _might_ be something we could find lying around and open by accident?”

“You’ve seen how much crap we’ve got stuffed into how many storage rooms?” Sam replied, amused at Charlie’s concern. He’d long since gotten over being surprised by anything they ran across in the bunker. Once you open your front door directly onto the Yellow Brick Road, pretty much anything starts to seem possible. “It would take decades to go through everything. We don’t know half of what we’ve got lying around.”

“But... _face melting_?”

“We’re pretty sure they made up the face melting for the movie, Charlie. Don’t worry about that. Dean’s ‘theory,’” Sam said, rolling his eyes a little, “Is that it was actually a curse box. Moses knew some freaky magic. And we’ve learned a few really painful lessons about why you don’t go around opening curse boxes without knowing exactly what’s inside first. Not to mention what we’ve learned about stone tablets carved with the Word of God.”

Charlie unconsciously rubbed her arm where it had been broken the last time she’d had to deal with one of those stone tablets. “Yeah, not a fan.”

“Hence storing them in a powerful curse box,” Sam agreed. “They’re not foolproof, as we’ve learned, but they’re better than nothing. There’s still idiots out there who think the reward is worth risking their lives to open them, though.”

“Did you ever find your shoe?” Jensen asked, trying to change the subject to something a little lighter, and suppressing a laugh.

Sam turned and frowned at him, and answered with a frosty, “No.”

“Okay,” Jensen said, biting his lip and raising his hand in surrender. “Touchy subject. Sorry. Forget I asked.”

Charlie looked confused for a minute, and then remembered. “Ah. Bad Day At Black Rock.”

“What?” Sam asked. “What’s that?”

“Supernatural book,” Charlie said, biting her lip and shrinking back in her chair apologetically. “Sorry.”

“You should know, Sam,” Misha said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice, distracting Sam from the confused and slightly irritated stare he’d pinned Charlie with. “Jared filled a pair of Jen’s shoes with superglue while they were filming that episode, so it’s still a rather touchy subject for him, too.”

Sam huffed out a disbelieving laugh, and then glanced over at Jensen, who looked decidedly less smug about shoe-related trauma now that his own shame had been revealed. Misha went right on talking, though.

“It was before I met him, of course, but there’s a pair of carpet slippers in our closet with a pair of socks glued inside them, so I know it’s true.”

“Fucker’s lucky I was still wearing socks when I put ‘em on,” Jensen grumbled. “Got him back good for that one.”

Sam watched Jen squirm for a second, and then realized that the man wasn’t embarrassed about Misha’s story, he was just trying desperately not to laugh. Jensen’s display of mock distress combined with Misha’s Cas-like sincerity was too much, and both Sam and Charlie lost it. Jen lasted a whole second longer before the three of them were practically falling out of their chairs laughing, while Misha just sat back and grinned, entirely satisfied with himself.

 ***

The four of them spent the next several hours touring the bunker. Jen and Misha were overwhelmed and amazed at the seemingly endless corridors lined with all sorts of rooms they’d never had an occasion to use for filming, so they’d never been built on their set. Dean had converted one of the empty bedrooms into a living room of sorts, complete with comfy couches, a huge coffee table with a half-finished jigsaw puzzle laid out on it, and a decent sized television. It was still a work in progress, Charlie promised.

After the story about curse boxes, they didn’t spend too much time digging through any of the storage rooms, but they were still interested in seeing them, just to get an idea of the vast collection the Men of Letters had actually accumulated. It was mind boggling, and both Charlie and Sam enjoyed their frequent surprised reactions to each new discovery.

They swept through most of the rooms that Jensen and Misha were already familiar with, like the infirmary, the lab, the gym, and the room with the ancient computer system installed in it. Charlie and Sam had fun trying to guess which rooms may have made it into episodes of the show, while Jensen and Misha had fun learning that certain scenes clearly had to be rewritten or cut so the set department could stay under budget, rather than build an entirely new room just to film a few lines of dialogue.

A little after noon, they stopped by the kitchen to throw together a quick lunch. Jensen’s next goal was to get back into the garage. It was, he explained, one of Dean’s favorite places, so he felt he needed to spend some _quality time_ there. The phrase made Sam laugh, because Jen sounded exactly like his brother saying it, making it sound just this side of unsavory.

Sam sat back and let Jensen loose in what was essentially Dean’s space. He’d been wary of both Jensen and Misha at first, but he realized how much he’d come to trust them over the last three days. He no longer had any reservations about letting them have access to anything in his life. He’d gone from a sense of dread over even letting Jensen drive Dean’s car, to basically giving them free rein throughout the bunker, including Dean’s room, and it didn’t even seem weird anymore. He wondered for a minute if Jared was feeling the same sort of bond with Dean and Cas, as he watched his two new friends explore to their hearts’ desire.

Misha followed Jen around for a while, but eventually settled down to wait with Sam, content to watch his husband geek out over all the old cars at his own pace.

“So, Sam,” Misha asked after a minute or two. “Did you get your money’s worth out of your wish?”

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“Whatever you wished for that brought me and Jen on this little adventure. Was it worth it?”

“Uh…” Sam looked down and realized he was fidgeting with his shirt buttons, and immediately dropped his hands into his lap. He’d tried not to feel cheated that Dean and Cas seemed to have their own wishes granted in a dramatic way, while he’d been stuck babysitting a couple of helpless actors. It hadn’t taken him very long to realize that’s not at all what he’d been doing. First of all, Jen and Mish were anything but helpless, and they hadn’t needed much in the way of babysitting, either. “So, what, you think I wished for you and Jen to keep me company for a few days?”

Misha turned from where he’d been admiring Jensen bending over an old motorcycle, and squinted critically at Sam. It sent a shiver down Sam’s spine for how much it reminded him of some of the glares Cas had sent his way back during the apocalypse; back when Cas still referred to him as an _abomination_.

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Misha said, finally dropping the scary Cas impression.

Sam stared back, but eventually nodded. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he might’ve been longing for some of the closure he’d experienced in the last few days, but Misha was too sharp to have missed it, and clearly wasn’t about to let Sam off the hook. Sam cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re talking about. And yes, I think it was worth it.”

In addition to gaining a whole lot of insight into his own past, he’d been absolutely floored to learn how many people had been touched and inspired by his life’s story, even if they all happened to believe he was just a fictional character. It went a long way toward helping him begin to let that past go.

Misha narrowed his eyes again, studying Sam for a moment longer, and then nodded once before returning his attention to Jensen, who’d moved on to examining the contents of the shelves in one corner of the garage. Despite his apparent focus on his husband, Misha continued to talk quietly to Sam.

“Jared worries about you, and we worry about him. Watching him live with some of the shit that playing you has put him through, I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for you. At the end of the day he can go home to his wife, he can try to forget about it for a while, but you’ve never been able to walk away from it.”

Sam felt the soft rumble of Misha’s voice drive the emotions behind every word into his skin. It wasn’t pity, exactly, but a close relative. Something with just as much weight, but backed up with a genuine care and concern. Sam could feel Misha’s love for his friend, but, strangely enough, he was also pretty sure that some of that love was just for _him_. He swallowed hard, and felt his head shake ever so slightly back and forth, as Misha nodded again.

“You deserve to know how many people look up to you, Sam,” Misha continued, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Not just because they respect and admire Jared, but because of who _you_ are, and how you’ve never given up-- on yourself, or your family, or the whole world. You deserve a little forgiveness from yourself, because the rest of the world, and the population of an entire alternate reality, have already forgiven you.”

Sam hadn’t managed a reply before Jen wandered back over. The transported expression melted off Jen’s face when he noticed the tension between Sam and Misha, and he slowed his steps until Sam offered him a weak smile.

Sam reached up and patted Misha’s steadying hand on his shoulder, and said, “It’s just a pep talk. I’ll be fine.”

Jensen snorted, and turned a WTF look on Misha, who shrugged, patted Sam’s shoulder reassuringly, and then stood up.

“Mish has a reputation for giving shitty pep talks,” Jensen replied, as Misha took a step back in a mockery of outrage. Jensen rolled his eyes, and refocused on Sam. “You gonna be okay?”

Sam finally broke into a smile, and gave one surprised laugh. “Yeah. I think I will. Thanks, Mish. It wasn’t a shitty pep talk, by the way.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Misha replied, indignant.

Jensen reached out and pulled Misha to his side, holding him tight. With unmistakable fondness written all over his face, he agreed. “Of course it wasn’t.”

“Are you sure you’re good?” Jen added, prodding at Sam in such an un-Dean-like manner that he didn’t even know how to respond.

“Sure,” Sam said, sounding a little unsure.

Misha laughed, but Jensen let him go and took a seat next to Sam, patting his knee and then looking him in the eye. “Because if there’s anything else we can do for you, and I do mean _anything_ , we owe it to Jared to make sure it happens. So, you know, anything that will make your life better, we’re a hundred percent onboard with that. It’s the least we can do, for both you and Jared.”

“You know,” Sam said, feeling the genuine warmth and sincerity behind Jensen’s words, “I think you guys have already done it.” He smiled over at Jensen before pulling him into a tight hug.

Jensen hugged him back a little awkwardly since they were both still seated, and then cleared his throat, sounding a lot more like Dean. “Now that we got that settled, what dusty-ass forgotten corner of this place is next up on the to do list?”

 ***

They spent another couple of hours walking around, stopping to explore when something interested them, but otherwise just talking about everything and anything. The heaviness of so many of their earlier conversations had finally dissipated, and they found they could all simply enjoy each other’s company for the sheer pleasure of getting to know one another for real.

Charlie spent part of the afternoon working on her database, but found them again in time for dinner. Jensen and Misha decided to cook, claiming it was the least they could do in exchange for Sam taking care of them for the last three days. Sam tried to brush it off as nothing, but they refused to hear it.

After dinner, when the kitchen was finally returned to its usual state of order, a strange itching sense of anticipation fell over them all. It was as if they could feel the ticking clock counting down the minutes until Rhiannon’s spell ended, sending Jensen and Misha back to their own world.

The four of them spent a little time speculating about how Dean and Cas were spending their last day in Paris. Jen and Misha were convinced that they were probably having as much fun with Jared and Gen as they were having with Sam and Charlie. It was the general consensus that it kind of sucked they couldn’t have all meet up at once, and they each only got to experience half the things that had happened in both universes that weekend. Sam also wished there were some way for all of them to stay in touch with each other, just to remind himself that somewhere out there, in another reality, there was a version of him that was doing just fine.

Around nine o’clock, Charlie dashed off to her room and brought back Cards Against Humanity, and the four of them sat around the kitchen table laughing and groaning until well past midnight. Sam was continually surprised that, of all of them, Misha was the one who kept coming up with the most hilarious cards, not to mention how often Jensen broke down in fits of contagious laughter. He couldn’t believe that just a few days ago he had ever have mistaken them for Dean and Cas. There were still plenty of reminders, little uncanny mannerisms that seemed just as natural on Misha as they did on Cas, or on Jensen as they did on Dean, but none of them were enough to make Sam forget who he was really talking with anymore.

Eventually, Charlie yawned and looked up at the clock. “It’s after midnight, and you’re still here. Should we be panicking yet?”

Sam laughed, packing the rest of the cards back into their box. “Nah. Buddy’s bar didn’t disappear until nearly three in the morning. I’m not sure if there’s an exact deadline, or if she’ll just wait until you’re asleep to send you back.”

“We were sleeping when she brought us here,” Misha agreed. “It seems likely that’s the best way to travel between parallel universes. At least, I’d prefer not to be awake for it.”

Sam nodded, then sat back in his chair and rested both hands on the table, the corners of his mouth turned down. It just occurred to him that both Jen and Misha had slept in Dean’s bed the night before, but when they arrived here they’d been separated, and woke up where Dean and Cas had gone to sleep. In separate beds. Whatever trauma Dean and Cas had suffered upon waking up in Jen and Misha’s bed together, Sam wasn’t sure they shouldn’t try to minimize it now that they understood how Rhiannon’s spell seemed to work.

“So, what are your plans for, you know, tonight?” he asked, twitching a little awkwardly in an attempt to avoid addressing the uncomfortable subject head-on. “About your sleeping arrangements, I mean.”

Jensen glanced at Misha, and answered, “Aw, are you worried we’re gonna scar your brother and the angel? Because I think that ship has already sailed.”

Misha nodded. “The damage has been done, my friend.”

“What damage?” Charlie asked. “You don’t think Dean and Cas will end up back in that motel room in Laramie, do you?”

Sam was momentarily confused by Charlie’s odd question, but it jarred him out of thinking things he didn’t want floating through his head anyway, so he latched on to her concern and ran with it. “No, no. That’s not the issue. They’ll be returned to wherever Jensen and Misha are taken from.” He didn’t want to have to say it out loud, so he tried to give Charlie a knowing look, and hoped she’d figure it out for herself. It didn’t take long.

“Ohhhh,” she replied, eyes going wide, before glancing over at a smirking Jensen and Misha comfortably wrapped around each other across the table. “I assume you guys weren’t sleeping in separate rooms when you went to bed on Friday night. Gotcha. Wow.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “And Dean’s had three days to get over how they woke up Saturday morning, but I have no idea what the rest of his weekend’s been like. If he comes back in a pissy mood, I don’t want to make it worse than it has to be.”

Jensen bit his lip, but he looked like he was fighting back a grin. Misha just stared at Sam a little pityingly, and said, “Haven’t you been paying attention at all this weekend?”

Sam was a little taken aback by that, because yeah, he’d been paying _a lot_ of attention. It seemed beside the point, though, because even though it might seem obvious to everyone else, he knew how Dean tended to react in these sorts of situations. Anything coming within ten feet of leaving him emotionally vulnerable, and he’d close up faster and tighter than a bear trap. Sam really didn’t want to be the one to poke the bear.

Sam glanced from Misha and Jensen over to Charlie, who was giving him a half-pitying, half-dumbstruck sort of glare. “What?”

“You don’t think waking up together would’ve… _triggered_ anything?” she asked. “Especially with the whole,” she shook her head trying to come up with an appropriate statement of the gravity of their situation, and finally threw her hands up in the air and made a disgusted noise, before standing up and pointing one finger right in Sam’s face. “Listen to me, Sam Winchester. Your brother is a strategist. Castiel is a strategist. Waking up in bed together, even in another dimension of reality…”

“Even naked,” Jensen threw in helpfully.

“And probably all cuddled up together,” Misha added, compounding Sam’s worry rather than alleviating it.

Charlie just snorted at them, and then whipped around back to Sam. “ _Even then_. Trust me, Sam. They found a way to get over it, at least until they figured out what was going on. They had to be on the same page, or they wouldn’t have gotten through the weekend. In order to do that, they actually had to _talk_ to each other. It was their only strategic option. Blah blah Braveheart speech blah blah.”

The wind had gone out of her sails now that she’d gotten her point across, and she dropped back into her seat. “Give them a little credit, Sam. It wouldn’t have taken those two nitwits much to wake up and smell the butterbeer.” She rolled her eyes and added under her breath, “It’s not like we’re all sloshing around ankle-deep in that particular butterbeer or anything.”

“I’ve been telling Jen that for years,” Misha said. “Though season seven kind of threw a wrench into things for a while.”

Jensen bumped his forehead against Misha’s temple, and replied, “That worked itself out, too.”

Charlie shot a look at Sam, and mouthed a confused _season seven?_ at him, and Sam replied with a wave of his hand, and an acknowledgement that they’d discuss it later. That satisfied Charlie, but Sam still wanted an answer to his original question. Well, he didn’t really _want_ an answer, but he still felt one was necessary. Big difference.

Jensen picked up on Sam’s hesitance, and put him out of his misery. “Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll be good. Please, just trust us, okay? We’ve actually got a lot riding on the outcome here, too.”

“Job security, for one thing,” Misha said.

Jensen glared at his husband for a minute, and then sighed. “You’re not going anywhere, Mish.”

Misha just closed his eyes and happily snuggled back against Jensen’s shoulder. “I believe you, Jen. Dean and Cas aren’t dumb. They’ll get their shit sorted, if they haven’t already.”

Sam hunched forward, ruffling his hands through his hair and making a little frustrated noise. “But it’s been _eight years_ , and those two haven’t seemed to notice it yet. I gave up on them completely a few years back. Sure they talk to each other, enough to get through cases or whatever. Enough to survive Purgatory, or cure the Mark of Cain, or find a way to evict rogue angels from my head; but that’s _it_. That’s where their conversations shut down, or derail.”

“This is different, though,” Jensen said, his voice softer, but matter-of-fact. “This isn’t a case. No one’s life is on the line, and they know what the deal is. They know they won’t be trapped there forever. There’s no problem to solve. Their only responsibility was to learn enough about _us_ to impersonate us on stage for a couple of hours.”

Sam was beginning to feel a little bit of hope for them, but he still wasn’t completely convinced. “You really think that’ll be enough.”

Misha opened his eyes, enough to peer at Sam, and smiled. “Well, that and having to essentially _be_ us in public.” Misha twisted around enough to press his forehead against Jensen’s neck. “We aren’t exactly secretive or closeted, you know.”

“Knowing Dean, he’ll find some way to get out of being all touchy-feely in public,” Sam replied.

Charlie couldn’t hold back her sudden laugh, but still tried to squelch it with both hands pressed over her mouth. Sam glared back at her, and she shrugged.

“You do _not_ think Dean would pass up the chance to get all up in Cas’s business, do you?” She asked, a bit of wonder creeping into her tone. “You may have given up on them years ago, but have you been watching them _at all_ in the last few months? Those two morons make Jabba the Hutt’s Bantha skiff look like the _Millennium Falcon_ in terms of speed. But Dean was getting there. Every time I’ve come over for movie night, they sit a little bit closer together. I’d considered making up a drinking game about all the ridiculous excuses Dean gives himself to put his hands on Cas, but I wisely abandoned it before I gave myself alcohol poisoning.”

Sam watched Charlie turn a little green at the memory, and laughed. “Wait, that was like three weeks ago, right? Fury Road night, when you were standing up in front of the tv acting out the fight scenes, until Dean made you sit back down because he was worried you were gonna fall over?”

Charlie hid her face behind her hands, but nodded, while Jensen and Misha tried to keep themselves from laughing. Sam’s eyebrows squished together as he frowned, recalling exactly how drunk Charlie had been that night. He’d been trying to ignore it, but he had to concede that the touching had become so constant that even his best efforts to _not_ notice it were beginning to fail.

“Okay, fine,” Sam relented. “You guys do what you think is best. If you’re right, then maybe they’ll finally get it out of their systems, and I won’t have to spend the rest of my life watching them dance around each other.”

“Yeah,” Misha said, reaching one hand up behind him to wrap around the back of Jensen’s neck. “I’m not sure it’ll make your life any easier if we’re right. You’re probably just exchanging one problem for another.”

Jensen laughed, and let Misha pull him closer, pressing his face into Misha’s neck and shoulder. It was all the visual evidence Sam needed, and he let out a pained groan as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fine, whatever,” he said. “I get your point. But you know what? I still think it would be better than watching the both of them pine over each other forever. At least _someone_ will end up happy.”

“That’s the spirit, Sammy,” Charlie said, grinning at him. “It’ll give the two of us an excuse to get out of the bunker once in a while. Maybe scope out the singles scene around here.”

Sam laughed at that. “You know there’s like two hundred people in this whole town, right?”

Charlie frowned, but then brightened. “Road trip, then. But for fun, for once.”

“Well, now that that’s all settled,” Misha said, standing up and stretching, “I think it’s about time to hit the hay.”

“Yeah,” Jensen replied, heaving himself to his feet. “I’d be willing to stay up and see how long we can push it, but I don’t think I wanna risk finding out what a goddess is willing to do to get her way.”

“Awww,” Charlie replied, leaping to her feet and scrambling around the table. She threw her arms around Misha, and he laughed and returned her hug. “It was awesome meeting the two of you. I’m sorry it wasn’t exactly your choice to be here, but thanks anyway for playing along with all the crazy around here.”

She released Misha, and clamped on to Jensen, who hugged her back without a second thought. “Thank you, Charlie. And Sam, too. We would’ve been goners if you hadn’t stepped up and looked out for us.”

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” Sam said, awkwardly standing there as Charlie released Jensen. He rubbed his hands together and glanced back and forth between Jensen and Misha, unsure if he could even find words to express how much he appreciated everything they’d talked about over the last few days. “Um. Really, thank you guys. For, you know. Clearing all that stuff up for me.”

Jensen sighed, and smiled at Sam, and then just pulled him into a hug. “It’s been a pleasure, Sam. I hope if we ever meet again, you’ll have a chance to meet Jared, too.”

“That would indeed be a banner day,” Misha replied, nudging Jensen out of the way so he could hug Sam, too. “I’m not sure everything’s going to go back to normal now, but hopefully it’ll be better than normal. Maybe you should talk to Dean, and even Cas, about all of it, too.”

Sam pulled back and nodded, doubting his ability to talk around the lump growing in his throat. Before the tension was allowed to mount any higher, Charlie darted back in, pulling both Misha and Jensen into another hug.

“This one’s for Felicia,” she said. “You give that to her, from me, the next time you see her, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Misha replied, squeezing her back tightly.

They all meandered slowly toward their respective rooms after that. Sam watched Misha chase Jensen through Dean’s bedroom door, heard them both call out a final goodnight and thanks again, before hearing Jensen laugh out loud at something Misha said. Whatever they got up to was their own business, Sam reminded himself. He wasn’t about to stick around and eavesdrop on them through the door. He just had to trust that they wouldn’t do anything that would be too upsetting to Dean or Cas. A few minutes later, as Sam lay in bed, he silently hoped he’d done the right thing.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam hadn’t been about to take any chances. He didn’t want to be caught off guard like he had on Saturday in Laramie. He’d set his alarm clock for 6:30. He wanted to be prepared for whatever state Dean and Cas came back in. When he wandered out to the kitchen at 6:35, he found Charlie already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and her laptop. She smiled up at him sheepishly, and then just shrugged.

“I was too nervous to sleep,” she said. “There’s more coffee in the pot. Help yourself.”

After a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, Sam headed out to the library to fetch his own laptop, and brought it to the kitchen. He and Charlie worked at the table, occasionally exchanging comments about when Dean and Cas might get up, or whether or not it was a good idea to wake them up. They’d eventually agreed that if they hadn’t heard anything by ten o’clock, they’d knock on Dean’s door. Neither of them thought they could take the suspense much longer than that.

Not thirty seconds after returning to their individual distractions, they heard a muffled shout that sounded like Dean cursing. Charlie sat bolt upright, a look of mortified horror spread across her face.

“Uh… I think maybe you might want to handle this one alone.” Her voice rose so high she practically squeaked out the last few words.

Sam stood up slowly. He could faintly hear Dean talking, and he knew the moment of truth had come. He was about to march himself down the hall to face the music, when they both clearly heard Dean shout, “Goddammit, SAMMY!” And he took off running.

By the time he reached Dean’s door, he could hear both Dean and Cas talking more quietly, and he sincerely hoped that meant they weren’t _too_ shocked about waking up together again. He took a deep, steadying breath, and knocked on the door. When he didn’t get an immediate reply, he knocked again, harder this time, until Dean finally yelled out an irritated, “What?”

Sam slowly opened the door, and stuck his head inside the room, deciding to keep the door between himself and any potential projectiles Dean might send his way. “Dean? Cas? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Sammy, it’s us,” Dean replied.

Sam stood in the doorway, gaping at them, because he might’ve grown accustomed to Jen and Misha hanging all over each other all weekend, but seeing _Dean and Cas_ apparently curled up, _snuggling_ in bed together was... not what he’d expected to find. The two of them frantically searching for clothes, Dean ready to tear his head off for letting them share his room-- that would’ve been a scene he could’ve wrapped his head around. This, though, he had no words for it.

Cas was sprawled out, half on top of Dean, with one of Dean’s hands wrapped possessively around the back his neck, the other curled around Cas’s upper arm. Despite Dean’s outburst, neither man seemed upset in the slightest. In fact, Dean had a ridiculous grin plastered on his face, and when Cas turned to face Sam, he looked just as happy as Dean did. And neither of them were moving.

Sam took one cautious step into the room, wary of making a bigger target of himself and more than a little concerned that he was being lured into a trap. He still half expected them to jump out of bed and start yelling. Despite the awkwardness, he had to say something, and decided to focus on a safer topic than _Why have you decided to insert this image into my eyes?_  “So, how was your trip?”

“Awesome, Sammy,” Dean replied, grinning wider as Cas settled against his chest so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to see Sam. “The convention, the fans, _Paris_. You would’ve loved it. And Jared was just as big a nerd as you are, so it was kinda like having you there anyway.”

“We assume Jensen and Misha took our places here while we took theirs,” Cas said, then waited for confirmation.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they were great guys. I’ll tell you all about it over coffee. Just, could you maybe put some pants on first?”

Dean laughed so hard he couldn’t speak, which left it to Cas to explain, “We seem to be wearing boxers, if that’s any consolation to you.”

“That’s not…” Sam started, but then changed tack. "You guys aren’t upset I let them stay in here, are you? I mean, once we figured out what had happened, I didn’t think there was any point to hanging around Laramie anymore, and it just seemed to make sense to let them use your room, Dean.”

“I was a little freaked at first, waking up here, but Cas talked some sense into me. It’s not like we didn’t do worse to some of their stuff.” Dean shrugged, and Cas laughed low and rumbly against his shoulder, so that Dean could feel it rattling through his chest.

Dean dragged his gaze away from Sam, and let it settle on Cas. The look on Dean’s face reminded Sam of the way Dean looked at a particularly tempting slice of pie, or sometimes at the Impala after he’d just waxed her. Like Cas was the only constant thing he had in his life, and it was perfectly fine with him.

Sam swallowed, and thought he should excuse himself. It was obvious that something big had happened while his brother and his best friend had been gone. Thank god he’d had some time to adjust to the idea, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Jensen and Misha.

“So, coffee? And then we can swap stories.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Just give us a few minutes.”

Sam backed out of the room, and shut the door. Well, it looked like everyone else had been right, after all. He made his way back to the kitchen to share the news with Charlie, and to maybe make himself a stronger drink than coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need extra fortification for the day ahead.

 

 

***Halfway around the world, in another universe altogether:

Misha squirmed, trying to hide his face from the ray of sunshine breaking through their window. He took a deep breath, and nuzzled back down against his husband’s shoulder. Jensen groaned, and tightened his arms around Misha’s back, pulling him in even closer.

That’s when it hit them both. Misha’s eyes flew open, and he looked around the room before snuggling back against Jensen.

“We’re back in Paris,” Misha said. “I wasn’t sure it worked.”  
Jensen hummed, and ran his hand down Misha’s back. “You doubted the goddess?”

“No,” Misha replied. “I’m just pleasantly surprised that Dean and Cas fell asleep all cuddled up together.”

Jensen scoffed. “Of course they did,” he said, letting his hand wander down over Misha’s ass. His very _naked_ ass. “Oh!”

Misha grinned up at him, pressing closer. “Surprise! I can’t wait to start filming the new season now.”

“Oh yeah,” Jensen agreed. “It’s gonna be so much fun.”

They eventually found the letter Dean and Cas had left for them, and as expected, they laughed in all the right places, and felt humbled by their comments on the episode they’d watched to prepare themselves for the convention. It was one thing to act out the scene where Dean had been cured of the Mark of Cain, but another thing entirely to read a description of it from the men who’d actually lived through it.

“You know, as much fun as it was hanging out with Sam and Charlie, and everyone else,” Jensen said after finishing their letter, “I’m really glad to be home, in a universe where none of that shit is real.”

“It’s all still real, Jen,” Misha replied. “It’s even more real than it was on Friday.”

Jensen frowned, but nodded. It was all a little too real now.

They eventually climbed out of bed, eager to hear every last detail of the weekend’s adventures from Jared and Gen. It was going to be a very interesting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for reading. I'd never written anything so focused on Sam before, and writing this has given me some new ships. Sam/Happiness, Sam/Stuff, and Sam/Home.
> 
> I think there will be at least one more story in this 'verse eventually (if not more), but thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on tumblr. I'm [mittensmorgul](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com).
> 
> *or just have a quick link to [the tumblr masterpost](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/135320463455/revenge-of-the-subtext-focused-on-dean-and-cass)* *commences with the awkward winking and eyebrow waggling*


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